


Call Me by Your Name (And I'll Call You by Mine)

by acupforslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Foreign Magical Community, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Non-Linear Narrative, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Traditions, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acupforslytherin/pseuds/acupforslytherin
Summary: My dearest Harry, because no matter how far we are, even two different worlds apart, I can never tell where you end and I start.Draco never expected Potter to find his way back to his life, especially after seven years of no contact, but here he was. With Potter's will in his hands, his own name written in that untidy scribble he recognized anywhere, Draco had to accept this was his time to reopen an old wound, revisit painful memories, and relearn everything he thought he knew about his past.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 70
Collections: H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prolix (shal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shal/gifts).



> Inspired by prompt #72 of H/D Hurt!Fest 2020
> 
> Thanks to prolix for such an interesting prompt! It jumped at me when I was perusing the list and I just had to adopt it. But 35k words later, I belatedly realized how far I let the story grow from that prompt. So... oops? I hope you'd still enjoy it, though, because I had so much fun nurturing the plot until it turned out to be so much bigger than I expected.
> 
> My endless gratitude for K, my dearest friend and faithful cheerleader; S, my extraordinarily helpful beta; and the mods of this amazing fest who patiently accommodated my inability to meet my deadlines _twice._ It has been a blast participating in hurting our beloved pairing, and I wouldn't be able to finish this fic without everyone of you.
> 
> Credit to Andre Aciman's book, Call Me by Your Name, for the title of this work (and a few lines in this fic, too), though the story itself wasn't that much inspired by his novel or the movie adaptation of it. Shout out to [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/CC808suHiFd/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) and [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/CC82DW1gB-_/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) photos as well as the models in them for being my muse while writing this piece <3
> 
> To readers, this is my first time writing in non-linear narrative, so I'm crossing my fingers it works the way it should be. Like many other stories told in a non-linear way, there will be some riddles and mysteries throughout this work—which keep me from giving you a very detailed list of tags as I fear it would spoil the reading experience. No other major warning other than MCD, but if you think you need more information to really make sure this is for you, please reach out to the Hurt!Fest mods (at least until the end of this fest). That said, I hope you enjoy this little bit of angst I can offer :)

## PART ONE: THE RETURN

#### May 2010

“Harry Potter passed away.”

Draco stared at the wizard in front of him. He was tall and broad, dark hair slicked back neatly. Maybe around forty, Draco wondered, but it was hard to tell about a magical person who diligently took care of their appearance. And this one was indeed that kind of wizard. That much was clear from the way he presented himself, sitting stiffly on one of the Malfoy Manor’s settees, back straight. He was wearing a set of formal law robes which were only permitted to those licensed to practice. He was dressed to intimidate and impress people at the same time.

To say that Draco was puzzled to find this man in front of his door first thing in the morning was completely justified. The puzzlement multiplied by a hundred when the wizard introduced himself as Harry Potter’s solicitor.

Draco’s bewilderment hadn’t fully worn off when the solicitor, Darius Engel as he introduced himself, told him the news he came to deliver. So, Draco could only stare at him, blinking uncomprehendingly.

“Excuse me?” he uttered after a minute of stretched silence.

“My client, Harry James Potter, has passed away,” Engel said, his tone so impassive and factual that Draco had a hard time processing the information.

Harry Potter had died. The Savior, the Golden Boy. Draco’s first instinct was to blatantly reject the news. It couldn’t be right, could it? Harry Potter, the hero who saved the wizarding world by defeating the Dark Lord twice. Was this some kind of joke? A dream? Maybe Draco just hadn’t woken up properly this morning.

But a look at Engel’s face was enough to slap him awake. His air of absolute seriousness forced him to blink again, once, twice, until his words sunk into his brain. Harry Potter was dead. The news was so sudden, hitting his unsuspecting self without any preamble. Draco was struggling to wrap his mind around it.

“Oh,” Draco pushed out eventually, not knowing what to say. “Was he back in Britain?”

“No,” Engel replied. “He died in a marine accident when he sailed in his conservatory voyage in the Arafuru sea.”

That sounded like something the Savior would do, like a way Harry Potter would leave the world. Grand and noble. It was especially gallant after he had disappeared from the British wizarding community years ago. No one had seen him since, but the rumour spread that Potter was somewhere in the most remote area on the globe, doing volunteer work to conserve the endangered species of magical creatures. Other rumour stated he ran away to a beautiful island with his mistresses to live in a seclusion, avoiding the fame and spotlight he got at home. Draco had never believed the latter.

It was not that Draco thought Potter was not capable of doing that, because he _knew_ Potter could. It was more that Draco refused to believe that was a possibility. That Potter would do that after what happened once between them.

Draco would have let out a breath of relief that Engel’s arrival to his house proved the first rumour was the true one, that Potter was away all this time to do some ridiculously noble deeds in Merlin knows where, but the initial news struck him again.

It didn’t matter anymore, did it, now that Potter was gone either way?

Engel cleared his throat and Draco was jerked back from his thoughts.

“So, Mr. Malfoy, I believe I never got to inform you of my intention for this visit,” said Engel. “Mr. Potter had mentioned you in his will.”

Draco was beyond floored. _What the fuck is going on?_

“It can’t be right,” he said, a little choked out. “He couldn’t have mentioned me in his will. That’s… that’s just not possible.”

From this slick black suitcase, Engel produced a roll of parchment. “It was stated here that Mr. Potter wished for all his wealth to be donated to Ministry-run charities, while the remainder of his personal possession would be temporarily kept in the Gringotts until all donations of his monetary assets were made. You, Draco Lucius Malfoy, will have sole access to Potters’ vault for the time being.”

Draco was half listening to the solicitor’s explanation and half struggling to process everything. Engel offered him to take a look at the parchment in his hand, which Draco took and scanned without really reading anything on it, his head still reeling. Though, he could recognize that untidy scrawls anywhere.

“It had been checked for its authenticity, the magical signature on it was undoubtedly of Harry Potter’s,” Engel continued.

“How—,” Draco started, disoriented. “How did you even get this when he died in an accident? Did you always have it with you? How did you know he died—”

“I received it yesterday from Mr. Potter’s trusted acquaintance. She made an Unbreakable Vow with him to deliver his testament in case anything happens. Mr. Potter understood the dangerous nature of his work and had everything prepared. They knew that the Vow would be enough evidence to prove his death.”

For a moment, Draco was grateful for the flat and impassive voice of this wizard. It somehow grounded him to reality, pulling him from the screaming of all his emotions, still in disbelief. This was real. Harry Potter had died. He wasn’t in this world anymore. Gone. Forever.

And he wrote Draco’s name in his will.

He forced himself to study the parchment, trying to make out the sentence. It was not as hard as he thought, the letter was very short, Potter’s wording straightforward and impersonal.

_I bestow all of Potters’ wealth that is kept in the Gringotts by the time of my death to the British Ministry of Magic to be wisely allocated to any ongoing charities that may need the fund. The rest of my possessions that cannot be converted into monetary value shall be destroyed, if Draco Lucius Malfoy does not wish to keep them._

_Harry J. Potter_

Draco read it over and over again until he memorized every word on that parchment. He kept reading it until the words stopped making sense. Good. It wasn’t supposed to make sense in the first place.

He fought an urge to laugh. At what, Draco didn’t know. Half an hour ago, he was living his quiet life, enjoying his morning tea with his family. Now, someone came uninvited to slap him with news he would never be prepared to receive.

Harry Potter was gone, but for Draco, he was back. He was back from his past, returning a piece of himself he gave to Potter a long time ago. Except that piece was tattered beyond repair, unrecognizable as a part of him. Draco didn’t expect anything less.

He looked at the parchment for one last time, carefully examining his name written in Potter’s distinctive script. He had no idea how it could be there.

At the end, Draco did let out a tired little laugh.

_I gave you back everything you lent me, and now that you’re no longer here, what else exactly do you want from me, still?_

* * *

#### May 1998

The War was barely over. Voldemort was dead, but his shadow somehow remained. It remained in the tears of mourning parents, the innocent and unknowing blinks of the newly orphaned babies, the painful sobs of wounded children. It stayed with the surviving heroes, wary and hurting. The shadow was dark, hovering over them, unyielding.

However, it couldn’t reach Draco. He would have laughed at the irony, if only he had any energy left for such playful expression. The War had drained him empty. He had lost everything one could possibly be stripped off of. His belief, his trust for his parents, his pride, his future. It wouldn’t be long until they took the rest away. His family’s wealth, the ground he was standing on, his family’s name.

Draco Malfoy had nothing left to lose, even the sharp claws of Voldemort’s shadow wasn’t able to touch him.

Draco Malfoy knew he had nothing to lose, so he didn’t try to restrain himself when the deepest part of him led him to Harry Potter, the way his past, logical self would never do. He threw himself to his old rival, diving headfirst with no hesitation.

What would a rejection do to him? He had no dignity to preserve anymore. He had nothing. Might as well indulge the part of him that yearned for something he would never have. Crush that part to nothingness while all he could feel was the blank void in his chest.

He didn’t even brace himself for the blow. He knew he would feel nothing either way.

But the blow didn’t come. Harry Potter didn’t push him away, didn’t look at him with disgust. Instead, the Savior welcomed him with open arms, embracing him. Reviving him.

Despite all the odds where a rejection would have made more sense, Potter took his hand. When Draco tentatively came to him, Potter brought him closer, held him, kissed him. Potter took him, slowly, almost lovingly, his emerald eyes burned into him. Potter collected the scattered pieces that were him and built him back, only to take him apart again, and rebuild him again. Over and over.

It was just an escape, Draco told himself. The escape from the inevitable shadow of the dead Dark Lord. Potter needed to breathe and Draco was there, practically offering himself to be inhaled as he pleased. But Draco was willing, even if he had to get hurt for it. Would it be better to feel pain or not to feel anything at all?

And he was ready for the pain, he would take it without hesitation. The way Potter took him, his body, his mind, his heart. All of him. It was Potter who gave them all in the first place, anyway, he had nothing when he approached him. So if Potter wanted to take everything he gave him later, then be it. If it would leave him with a bigger hole than before, emptier, then let that void in him gape open.

* * *

#### May 2010

The garden of Malfoy Manor which Draco was staring at was extensive and lush, expanding to every direction with various kinds of plants, both magical and non magical. The vivid green grass covered every inch of the Manor. It was thick but well trimmed, decorated with splashes of vibrant colours from the flowers scattered in small patches. Draco remembered running around that ground as a small child, his mother watching him with a book on her lap and a cup of tea in her hand. He remembered laughter when his mother cast a spell to make the daisies dance along with a joyful tune. He remembered the softness when she hugged and caressed him once he fell down and scraped his knee. He remembered when his father led him there with his very first broomstick, patiently teaching him how to float and leave the earth.

There were so many good memories in the regal looking garden.

Malfoy Manor had taken a great toll from the War, with it being occupied by the Dark Lord himself, and the garden had its own share of being ruined by that ominous shadow. While Draco wouldn’t say he tried to revive the glory of the old manor, he did dedicate years to scrub off the wicked aura latching to his house left by Voldemort and his loyal supporters, and he took extra time tending to the garden. If his parents couldn’t be here with him, he wanted at least the happy memories he had with them to stay.

Lucius Malfoy was currently rotting in his cell in Azkaban, serving his life sentence that probably wouldn’t last that long considering his condition now. Narcissa Malfoy, who fared a lot better than her husband because of her deed during the War, fled the country as soon as her house arrest was completed, not being able to bear the burden of Voldemort’s shadow all over her once happy home.

If anyone would have asked Draco why he chose to stay after all of that, he wouldn’t be able to come up with an answer. ‘ _It was my duty_ ’ was once his reason. But duty to whom? His parents weren't there anymore to care about the family name, and Draco had stopped caring longer than he could remember. 

But stay he did, because Draco didn’t know what else to do, what kind of life he could have if not this. Restoring the name of Malfoy, building a respected pureblood family, raising a proper heir to carry on the task. Before this, Draco wasn’t sure he even had any reason to live left.

He thought about one life he let himself dream of, a long time ago. The dream that was cruelly crushed and dumped to the ground by someone he trusted with his everything. And now that someone was no longer here, in this world.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut from the painful clench of his chest. Harry Potter was gone.

A soft touch of a hand on his arm pulled Draco from his mind with a violent jerk. He turned his face to Astoria, slipping into their drawing room without him noticing. Her clear brown eyes, casting the usual kind gleam she always possessed, were staring intently at him with obvious worry.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

Draco took her hand that was resting on his arm, slowly lifting it to land a featherlike kiss on her knuckles. When his lips touched her skin, he closed his eyes and let the kiss linger.

He looked up and offered his wife a small smile.

Gently, Astoria brought her free hand to cup Draco’s jaw, her delicate thumb caressing his cheekbone in a reassuring gesture. “You know you can always tell me everything, right? Don’t ever forget that.”

With a sigh, Draco leaned into her touch. “How could I forget one of the only blessings I have left in this world, Astoria?”

She caught his grey eyes. “You have me.”

“And you have me, too,” Draco whispered. “I can’t imagine it means that much, but you do.”

“Draco,” she said warningly. She never liked it when Draco was belittling himself, and it usually didn’t happen a lot. He was a kind of person who would hate himself in silence, and put up a wall. But times like this tended to make his wall crumble.

He chuckled, only a bit self deprecating, and smiled a little wider at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “And thank you. So much.”

Astoria pulled him into a warm embrace.

Draco loved her, he really did, but he knew it was not the same. The thing between them couldn’t be compared to say the least. The love he had for her grew slowly, gradually, in a calm, forgiving manner. It started as mutual respect, which evolved into trust, and now it had grown into a sense of affection from their silent promise of a life-long friendship.

But that's all that would ever come from the two of them. Friendship. An offer to not go through everything alone. And that was enough for Draco, at least for most of the time, but he knew that deep down something was missing. A big part of him, a hole that was left gaping for longer than he could remember.

It had stopped bothering him, that wound from the past, but now Potter had to get back and open it again, smearing salt all over it, letting Draco writhe in the never healing pain.

Still, Draco was no longer that lost boy, fresh from the war, battered and numb. In the years he tried doing the only thing he thought he had to do, restoring the Malfoy family name, his reasons to hold on had grown, slowly but surely. From the precious companionship he built together with his wife to their brilliant son, a young Malfoy who Draco was sure would grow into a man thousands of times better than his father.

The thought of him calmed Draco, softening his posture as he let Astoria hugged him tighter.

“Where’s Scorpius?” Draco asked on the top of her head.

“In his room, taking a nap,” said Astoria. “Are you going to be fine?”

Slowly, he returned his wife’s embrace. “I’ll always be fine for the two of you,” he replied quietly. “Just stay here for a little longer, will you?”

And Astoria, the kindhearted friend she was, did.

* * *

#### July 2002

For Draco, he was Harry at times like this.

On other days, other occasions, he might be Potter, his ex-rival and his old schoolmate. Someone who he had been hostile toward for most time Draco knew him. A man who returned all his petty hostility by saving his life, pulling him up when he was one nudge away from falling into the chasm of death. Potter, whom he owed his life to, who saved his life more than once. In the Room of Requirement, in front of the Wizengamot, and then once again after all of that mess, after Draco was stripped bare from everything. Potter was not a name he spat as an insult anymore. No, Potter was his personal savior, and Draco said his name with respect. He praised that name, bowed at the sound of it, subjecting himself to humility.

In yet different times, this man could simply be Harry Potter. The Savior of All. Just a heroic, perfect figure everyone adored that Draco could feel nothing about him. He was Harry Potter when Draco saw his face on the pages of the Prophet, he was Harry Potter when he was requested to give a public speech for all weary war survivors. For Draco, Harry Potter was a different person who was somehow detached to the Potter he knew.

But now, when he was under Draco, moaning his name, the man was just Harry.

How could he not? With his glasses tucked safely on the bedside table, those emerald eyes bored intensely into Draco’s as he rocked in sync with his thrusts. His hands, large and rough, were surprisingly gentle as they caressed Draco’s side, traveling further and further until he cupped the round of Draco’s buttocks, urging him faster. He bared his neck, throwing his head back against a pillow, and moaned louder.

“Draco.”

Draco shivered from the way Harry called his name, how it dripped with openness and vulnerability. He didn’t understand. When Harry didn’t kick him away the first time Draco approached him, this was not what he imagined the Savior would do. Harry only wanted an escape, and he took him in, so wasn’t he supposed to take advantage of him? Of a piteous Death Eater who was willing to kneel and do anything he wanted?

But no, Harry pulled him up and slipped under him, begging Draco to fill him through soft touches and quiet whispers.

Or maybe this was the advantage he could only get from Draco. Being open and vulnerable. Maybe this was what Harry needed from him, secret intimacy from someone no one would expect the Savior would drag into his bed. The whole thing felt bizarre even to Draco amid the numbness he felt in his days, but maybe the deviance was what Harry got off to. And if it was the case, Draco would give him any time he needed it.

“Draco,” Harry moaned louder, catching his eyes. “Say my name.”

The request took Draco by surprise, making the rhythm of his thrust falter. He looked down at him in question.

“Say my name, Draco,” Harry repeated, firmer this time.

Draco gulped, slowing his movement until he stopped completely, still buried inside Harry. Tentatively, he shifted his hand that was braced next to the dark-haired head to cup his jaw.

“Harry,” Draco whispered.

A wistful smile bloomed in Harry’s face. He raised his arms to circle around Draco’s neck. “Draco,” he whispered back. “Please move.”

_Please_. Draco almost scoffed at the unnecessary politeness. As if Draco would ever deny him anything. He thrusted forward, aiming deeper this time. Harry responded by moaning his name again and again, clutching desperately at him.

“ _Draco_.”

Draco felt Harry clenched around him and he groaned from the pleasure, collapsing to bury his face in the crook of Harry’s shoulder. “Harry.”

“I’m close, Draco,” Harry moaned, his eyes shut tightly.

At the end, Draco could do nothing but give Harry everything. Every little thing he asked, and far beyond that. Draco would give Harry everything he had, everything that he was. And he never asked for anything in return. Why would he? Draco couldn’t tell if he desired anything else at this point, anything other than this man. And Harry had offered him more than enough. Often, what Harry gave him was too much to even make sense.

Like right now. Sated and suddenly relaxed as the tension ebbed away with their climax, Harry pulled him close, holding him in his arms. Draco would feel the gentle breaths Harry let out on the skin of his bare shoulder, and the calming rhythm never failed to confuse him. It always happened after sex, just innocent cuddles when the two of them simply breathe each other in as on borrowed time. It baffled Draco the first time Harry held him when he was ready to head out, thinking he fulfilled what was needed from him. Now, after years and countless nights together later, he still didn’t quite understand why Harry wanted him to stay.

But Harry wanted that somehow, so Draco did.

“How’s the Manor?” Harry asked quietly.

This also something Draco didn’t get, Harry initiating small talk with him. Sometimes he asked about Draco’s days. Other times, he would tell him about his own. They could talk about nothing and everything for hours on end, right up until the break of dawn, until their time together was up. Then they continued their conversations when they met again, as if they didn’t spend days not acknowledging each other's presence in public.

Draco loved it the way it was. For him, it felt like the time stopped when they were not together, a mere blurry period when nothing mattered, and it unfroze by the time they reunited in the private of Harry’s tiny apartment.

“It’s fine,” Draco replied, “the restoration is going well, though I need to work faster to get it done by the end of the year.” He felt Harry’s hand begin caressing his stomach. “I saw from the Prophet that you sold Grimmauld Place.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Draco snorted. “What are you sorry for?”

“I didn’t tell you earlier about it. It’s your ancestors’ house, after all.”

“Nonsense. You’re the rightful owner of it.”

Harry hummed and scooted closer, his hand didn’t cease the gentle movement. “Still,” he whispered. “But I think it was for the best.”

“I trust you,” said Draco simply. Because he did trust Harry, no matter how much the fact scared him.

They stayed in silence for a long moment, lying close together, enjoying every second of the night. Draco almost thought Harry fell asleep when the man in his arms spoke up again.

“Why rush the restoration of the Manor? What’s in store next year?”

Draco’s hand found its way to Harry’s hair, absently entangling the strands. “Well, the Greengrasses agreed to my marriage proposal. I have to finish reconstructing my house before the courtship period ends.”

Harry’s response missed a couple of beats as his hand stopped its soft caress. “You’re getting married?”

Draco hummed his affirmation. “Early next year, most likely. Maybe by the end of winter or in the beginning of spring,” he said. “It was not an easy thing, finding the suitable bride, but the Greengrasses value honoring their promises more than anything else in the world. They somehow still want to go through the arrangement they made with my father long ago, even after all this.”

“Do you think your marriage will restore your family name?”

Hearing the businesslike curiosity in Harry’s voice almost made Draco smile. “I don’t know, but it’s my best bet. I mean, Malfoy name would never be like it was before—not that I want it to be—but being married to a respected family will increase my chance to gain a reasonable position in the Ministry,” he explained. “I could hopefully work my way from there.”

Slowly, Harry’s hand moved again. “I always wondered why you’re trying really hard.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “Honestly, I’m not sure, either. Maybe if not this, what else?”

“Don’t you have other things you want?”

Draco pondered on the question for a while. It’s been quite long since he asked that question to himself. The last time was right after the war, when everything was chaotic rubbles and ashes. After he was freed from his charges, he sat alone in his room, blanketed in the remaining gloomy shadow of the Dark Lord, and thought: _what now?_

At that time, Draco remembered the fiery green eyes in the middle of the blazing room, and he wanted that. With nothing left to lose, he went for it, and got what he desired against all odds. After the first time, came the second, and then the third. Draco couldn’t stop coming back, wanting and getting every time.

_Don’t you have other things you want?_ What a stupid question. Of course Draco did. He wanted Harry from the beginning, always. But he knew he couldn’t have him, at least not outside their borrowed time. They just couldn’t be together, the Savior and his dirty little secret. And Draco wouldn’t dream to ask for more than their precious time, borrowed or not.

But at the end, he knew this wouldn’t last. He couldn’t sneak into Harry’s place every other week forever. Dreading falling into the hell pit like one he was in after the war, Draco started building his life the only way he knew: being the cold-hearted, impassive Malfoy he was raised to be. It was his duty, after all.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco said at last.

“It should,” said Harry. “Do you want the marriage?”

“I said it doesn’t matter what I want. I’m just doing what I need to do.”

Harry sighed. “What you _think_ you need to do,” he said. “You’re a free man, Draco, you can go abroad, start a new life. Find a new purpose. That’s what I’d do.”

“And why don’t you?”

“I might, soon.”

Draco smiled to himself. Just one more reason to get married, then. “I’ll get married and you’ll leave the country. We don’t have that much time left, do we?”

Usually, they never talked about it, never talked about their time together, especially not how long they would be together. But tonight, Draco wanted to know. He wanted to confirm that they were just a temporary item. He wanted to know how near the end was for him, because if he had nothing to lose years ago, he now had to prepare to part with a big chunk of himself when all of this was over.

“No, we don’t,” Harry answered, his tone was an odd mixture of regret and a hint of relief. “Shall we make the best of it?”

“Whatever you meant by that,” said Draco in lieu of agreeing with him.

Harry wrapped his arms around his torso and turned him around to press Draco’s back to his chest. He landed a soft kiss on his neck. “I just hope you will be happier in the path you chose.”

_The path without you,_ Draco thought to himself. _Oh, Harry, if only you knew._

* * *

#### May 2010

Draco’s grip on the delicate cup handle tightened as his two uninvited guests glared at him. He was once again sitting in his drawing room, on the same armchair he sat on when Potter’s solicitor came just as uninvited. Malfoys’ drawing room had been very esteemed for generations, an elegant space that exuded the untouchable dignified air, a place to entertain the most respected guests in the whole wizarding world. Unfortunately, Draco’s guests today were not interested in being entertained.

They came to demand an answer Draco didn’t have.

“For the last time, I don’t know how my name ended up in his will,” Draco said, exasperated and tired. It was too early for this.

Granger and Weasley frowned, sharing a silent conversation between them, and gave him a sceptical look. The two of them practically barged their way into the Manor first thing in the morning after they received the news of their dear friend’s death, thinking it had been Draco’s plot all along. Draco had run out of ideas to convince them that he was as clueless as they were with everything going on.

“You could forge the document,” accused Weasley.

Wearily, Draco looked away and sighed. He stared at a vase of daisies and primroses Astoria picked from their garden yesterday, sitting innocently across the room. The vase was his mother’s favorite, bone white with soft blue geometrical patterns all over it. Draco remembered Scorpius had broken it no less than four times, and he only laughed it off each time as he cast a Reparo and tried to calm the startled toddler. That’s it, Scorpius and Astoria. Draco thought about his son and wife and took a deep inhale, still staring blankly at the vase. He could do this.

“Malfoy—,” Granger called.

“Why do you think I’d do that, honestly?” Draco said slowly, not turning his head. “What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t know, maybe you need the gold or something,” Weasley mumbled, his voice full of disdain.

Draco restrained himself from scoffing, and instead he silently gathered his patience. Scorpius and Astoria were waiting for him to have their breakfast together. “Yes, the Malfoys aren’t as well off as we used to be, now,” he said. “But, no matter how hard it is to believe, we are doing quite fine without having to steal from anyone else's vault. Besides, you both saw the will. All his wealth will be donated, anyway.”

“That’s even more suspicious,” Granger said, frowning more deeply. “Why would Harry leave you with his personal belongings?”

_Because the Savior hadn’t done messing with my life even after his death_ , Draco thought to himself. “I should be the one asking that. Didn’t you two keep in touch with him all this time?”

“He stopped contacting any of us a few months after he left the country,” Granger replied.

“Well, if he didn’t even contact you, what would be his reason to contact me?”

“What would be his reason to put you in his will?” countered Ron.

This wasn’t going anywhere. “I don’t think I can come up with something to make you believe that I _really_ don't know why he did that,” said Draco, his patience thinning.

“What about before that? Before Harry left? Did you meet him?” Granger asked suddenly.

Once a dirty secret, forever a dirty secret. Draco wanted to laugh at how pathetic he was. “I met him once to thank him for testifying for me in the court.”

“Wait,” Weasley cut in, his frown getting deeper. “You disappeared before your wedding seven years ago. Someone from the Ministry said you returned through a long-distance Portkey, but no record of you leaving with one,” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “It was not long after Harry left Britain. Did you meet him at that time?”

Draco closed his eyes and sighed again. It was about time someone brought that up. He was sure Weasley and Granger wouldn’t be delighted with the truth.

Before he could come up with an excuse to answer the question, someone entered the room to join them.

“Is everything okay here?”

Draco looked up to find Astoria walking gracefully towards them, her brown eyes gazed calculatively on the two guests sitting in front of him. She stopped to stand next to Draco’s armchair, her slender hand landed on his shoulder in a grounding gesture.

“It’s fine,” Draco offered her a small smile, taking her hand to kiss, silently saying his gratitude for her presence. “Weasley and Granger here just want to talk about how Potter could mistakenly put me in his will. We’ll sort it out soon.”

Astoria eyes the couple again, her face unreadable. “Well, we can’t ask the deceased for an explanation, can we? Let’s just be reasonable and move on,” she said flatly, her tone impassive.

It was clear that Weasley didn’t like her bold words. “How can you—”

“Ron,” Granger cut him with a hand on his thigh.

Astoria was completely unfazed. “What are you two trying to do here? My husband didn’t have any form of communication with Harry Potter for all the years he was away. He doesn’t have any involvement in the writing of Potter’s will. What are you expecting him to do, now that the will has been written?” she said calmly. “I believe he doesn’t even want any of the Potter’s belongings. I’d say you should let Draco retrieve all of them, as he was the only one with access, and give them to you, if you want them that badly.” She paused, squeezed Draco’s hand still warped in her, and added as in afterthought, “and then you can stop bothering my family.”

From his seat, Draco could see Weasley and Granger gritting their jaws, still not pleased with the offer but maybe considering it was the most reasonable one they could get. Draco understood, in some ways, that this was hardly about Potter’s old stuff and more about Draco of all people being mentioned in his will. But, as Astoria said, what would they do now?

Some truths were better hidden forever.

* * *

#### January 2003

Harry was an enigma. A riddle without a clue. A puzzle to which pieces were all hidden.

Draco didn’t try to decipher him. He hadn’t, for a long time. He couldn’t remember the last time he hoped to make sense of this man, but it had been too long. He knew if Harry had any intention to share, he would. But it had been almost five years since they started this arrangement, their secret meetings, and Harry never left a crack open for Draco to see what’s inside.

And now, thousands miles away from the land they were born, the number of Draco’s unanswered questions only grew. He voiced none of them, though, knowing Harry wouldn’t shed light on them. He didn’t provide any explanation when he invited Draco to meet him and he seemed to want to keep it that way.

Draco watched the man, dark curls blowing in the late afternoon wind, vivid green eyes gazing at the setting sun. They arrived at this beach about half an hour ago, but none of them had initiated a conversation so far. The beach was empty, and Harry had led Draco to wander around, paddling at the water’s edge just to feel the gentle waves on their feet. As the sun shifted nearer to the horizon, Harry left the water to find a dry spot for them to sit, Draco trailing behind him still without words. Now they sat together close, arms brushing every time Harry moved to idly play with the sand.

After those years together behind everyone’s back, Draco understood this kind of silence very well. This kind of tranquility didn’t feel constricting. Usually, Harry would talk a lot about nothing and everything when they were together, as if they were just two good friends sharing whatever happened in their respective lives. Draco always played along, because he didn’t see any reason not to, and because he liked the sound of Harry’s voice. But when Harry didn’t start a conversation, knowing that Draco wouldn’t either, it meant that he was giving Draco a chance to think about _them_ and what was happening between them. To wonder and to question.

What would be answered, though, that was for Harry to decide.

“Why Bali?”

The corners of Harry’s lips lifted. “Because you love the sun and there’s not enough of it in Britain right now,” he said, not looking at Draco. 

“There are other places if you are just looking for the sun.”

“True,” he replied after a pause. “I like it here, though. Far enough from anyone we know.”

Draco looked down to the sand sticking to his feet and wondered if Harry purposely avoided the word _home_ or he was just overthinking it. Silently, he added it to his list of the mysteries about the man he probably would never understand. Harry didn’t seem like he would elaborate further.

_Why me_ , Draco wanted to ask. He knew Harry wouldn’t answer that.

“Until when?” he asked instead.

“However long you want this to be.”

As if he didn’t know Draco wanted this to last forever. Draco almost hated him for that answer. Just almost. He understood his meaning, the unspoken _until our time was up_. _However long you want this until you have to be back_.

“The wedding is in late March,” Draco said.

Harry nodded. “And when do you have to be there?”

“Any time before that.”

“The preparation?”

“Sorted out.”

Turning from the setting sun, Harry faced Draco with a tilted head. “The bride?”

“Astoria?” Draco raised his brows. “She’s fine.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“Not here, no, but she knows I’m away.” Draco paused to think about his soon-to-be wife. He didn’t know Astoria Greengrass that well other than the times he occasionally saw her in Hogwarts, a House-mate one year younger than him. She didn’t particularly stand out, didn’t attract attention to herself, and Draco didn’t think much of her. Later, after he reestablished the marriage agreement with the Greengrasses, he still didn’t think much of Astoria. He was just doing what he thought he needed to do, and she was somehow part of it. But, when Draco came to her before his departure, telling her he had to leave and asking her not to tell anyone about it, Astoria only smiled and let him go. Draco didn’t even tell her when he would be back. If he would be back at all. “I think she understands.”

Harry’s smile grew a little wider, more earnest. “She sounds like a nice woman.”

“She is,” Draco said quietly. 

Silence fell between them once again. The sun had sunk deeper by now, halfway into the horizon, their surroundings getting darker. Draco glanced at Harry, noticing how he still didn’t try to talk with his eyes intently on the retreating sun. He was still letting him to question.

“You said this is our farewell,” Draco said slowly.

Harry turned to him again with an affirmative hum.

Draco held his stare for a long moment. If Harry wouldn’t give him answers, Draco wondered if he would give him something else. Only one way to find out. “Can we make it count?”

The gaze of those green eyes faltered just for a second before softening. “How do you want us to make it count?”

“By living in the moment. Right now.” Because now was the only thing they had. If not now, when? “We travelled so far, let’s stay here for now. In the present.”

A wide smile, a little shift closer, and the newly fallen darkness. Draco felt Harry’s arm around his shoulders. “You’re right,” Harry whispered next to his ear, voice so quiet Draco wouldn’t hear him if they didn’t press up together. “That’s why we’re here, right? To just be us in the present.”

Draco sighed and relaxed in the embrace, relishing the sudden yet subtle shift of the mood between them. He leaned his head on Harry’s broad shoulder, warmth and contentment began slowly to spread in his heart, almost wary and hesitant.

_Let’s be us until our time is up._

* * *

#### May 2010

The day had barely started but Draco already felt tiredness down to his bones. He couldn’t get any sleep last night, tossing and turning on his bed. Weasley’s accusing look wouldn’t leave his mind. That look was sobering, to say the least. It brought up memories, and made what was supposed to be a forgotten dream resurface as hidden reality.

It was seven years ago. Draco should have known it was too much to ask for him to move on and leave everything in the past.

Exhausted with sleep deprivation, Draco dragged his feet to the parlour in the east side of the Manor where he knew his wife would be at this time of the day. As expected, Astoria was sitting on one of the armchairs in the room, a cup of tea on the table in front of her and today’s edition of _Daily Prophet_ in her hand. Upon seeing Draco come, she put the newspaper on the table, facing down to hide the headline from him, but not fast enough.Draco saw a glimpse of unruly dark hair and a pair of round glasses on the front page.

Draco sat on the sofa in front of her. "What's in the news?" he asked his wife.

Astoria gave him an imploring look before posting her lips and casting her eyes down on the folded papers. "Nothing but speculation."

"And what is it that people are speculating?"

She hesitated for a moment. “It just seems… a little off. Harry Potter signed a long term contract with his solicitor before disappearing from the country and he got someone to confirm his death to that solicitor. Don't you think it seems like something well-planned?" Astoria frowned, tapping her fingers on the table.

"So people think Potter planned his death?"

"People wonder if Potter planned the time of his death years ago. With the fact that he cut ties with all his friends here makes it even stranger. But no one can think why he would do that." Astoria paused to look at Draco. "I mean, if he really planned everything before he went away, he was doing it while he still had contacts with his friends—but they are all clueless about it."

Draco sighed, not expecting to have his head spinning so early in the morning. The headache added so much to his already tired body. He should have known that Potter wouldn't make this easy for him, even after his death. "Maybe his friends never truly understood him," he said flatly. "I bet me being on his will makes speculating even more fun."

With a sympathetic look, Astoria reached across the table to pat the back of his hand. "Let them. People always speculate, and they talk and hate." She smiled, small but genuine. "It's an old song for us."

Draco stared at her, his heart filling with love and gratitude for his friend. "I still can't believe you stayed with me through all those songs."

"If you cut even half of your self-deprecating thoughts, maybe you'd see why I chose to stay over and over again," she said, her tone light but Draco could sense the seriousness beneath it. "Now go and wake Scorpius up for breakfast. You're always the worst when you haven't talked to him."

The mention of his son was enough to bright Draco up. After kissing Astoria’s cheek, he left to make his way to Scorpius’s room, a little smile forming on his face. For the last six years of his post-war life, this morning routine had always been his favorite.

Scorpius’s room reminded him of the one he had in his childhood, partly because he intentionally built it on the same side of the Manor so the window faced the same area of his garden that he loved the most, and partly because he decorated it himself while remembering the little things he liked from his old room. Morning light streamed into the room through the wide window, illuminating the soft blue wall with various constellations painted on them. Many toys were scattered on the plush carpet, a pair of mini broomstick figures were still hovering from the ground—Astoria had forgotten to deactivate the spell again last night.

On the center of the room was a big bed with a snitch-patterned duvet, and a tuft of platinum blond hair was poking from under it. Feeling his smile widened from the sight, Draco walked closer and climbed into the bed with his sleeping son.

He ran his hand through the soft, curly hair. “Rise and shine, my Scorpion,” he whispered.

The little boy squirmed from his curled up position before his head finally emerged fully from under the duvet. He blinked his huge, grey eyes open. “Father,” he mumbled, voice slurring from his slumber. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Scorpius.” Draco landed a peck on the crown of Scorpius’s head. “Ready for breakfast?”

Instead of answering, Scorpius stretched his tiny body and made sleepy noises—his usual mumbling of gibberish. Draco found the sight too adorable to resist peppering more kisses on his son’s face.

“Stop it, Father,” Scorpius giggled eventually, fully awake now.

Draco sat up on the bed, taking Scorpius and placing him on his lap. For a few moments in the peaceful morning, Draco indulged himself with more lazy cuddles with the youngest Malfoy. When he just woke up, Scorpius always felt perfectly warm and the citrus-scented soap Astoria bathed him with made him smell amazing. This was what Draco believed heaven would be like.

“Father?”

Draco hummed, looking down at his son.

“Are you okay?” Scorpius asked, frowning a little. “You look tired.”

Sweet and beautiful Scorpius, so kind and perceptive. Draco felt his heart aching as he ruffled Scorpius’s hair affectionately, wondering what he did to deserve such a perfect angel. “I’m fine, dearest. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Scorpius tilted his head. “Bad dreams?”

The worst, Draco wanted to say, but he just hummed instead and nuzzled Scorpius’s hair.

“You should’ve come to my room, Father. You told me to come to your room whenever I have a bad dream.”

“And you’ll chase the bad dream away for me?”

“Of course. I’m a big boy now.” Draco could feel Scorpius puff his chest proudly and he didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Salazar, to have a son this amazing after all he had done.

Draco put his hand on Scorpius’s still puffed out chest and inhaled deeply, concentrating on a thread of magic he got really familiar with in the past years. Immediately knowing what was going on, Scorpius followed his lead and placed his plump palm on Draco’s chest, right on his sternum. Together, they synchronized their breathing.

After a few breaths, Draco started to feel it. Deep inside his chest, right in the middle of his breastbone, a warm vibration reverberated. He inhaled deeper. A tiny pulse was felt in Scorpius’s chest, under his hand.

Quietly, he cherished the sensation of how his magical core intertwined with his son’s.

Nothing ever felt as precious as this, no moment in his life could ever come close. The warmth, the rightness of it. The strength of this connection he created with his boy. In this moment with their magic sparking gently around them, Draco was filled to the brim by the overflowing love for his son and the primal need to always keep him safe.

Forming this bond to connect their magical cores wasn’t an easy task. Draco remembered the years of sleepless nights he spent researching the ancient spells to make a magical bond through blood relation. It took so long that Scorpius was almost four years old at the time Draco managed to build a powerful, invisible bridge between them.

He also remembered the first time he found out it was possible in the first place. He remembered the bright, sunny place where every parent was strongly linked with their children in a way Draco had not expected before.

Draco remembered when Harry told him to try that with his own child one day. And Draco finally did it.

Still relishing the gentle pulsing of their fused magic, Draco closed his eyes, welcoming the picture of Harry with a carefree smile that his mind conjured. This—with Scorpius in his arms, their magic blanketing them—was the only time he didn’t regret the time he shared with Harry.

* * *

#### February 2003

He called this upon himself, Draco knew a long time ago. He signed up for this, and he had been willing to pay for the consequences. It didn’t make the heartbreak he knew was bound to happen any less painful.

Slowly, Draco walked down the cobblestone path leading to the Manor, every step he took felt like a big task as he dragged his heavy feet to move. It started to rain lightly when he opened the gate to his house, but Draco didn’t cast an Umbrella Charm or try to walk faster to avoid the drops of water falling from the sky. He couldn’t tell how much he took his time to reach the Manor until he grand porch in front of it and found he was soaking wet. Draco didn’t bother with a Drying Charm.

Draco expected the Manor to be empty and the only thing that would greet him was the sad echo of his own footsteps, but the enormous door swung open before he could reach it, revealing a brunette woman in a soft blue dress.

In the back of his mind, Draco absently thought that he should have been a bit surprised to find Astoria here, but he didn’t. He gave his soon-to-be wife full access with the wards before he left and Astoria could come by anytime she wanted for all Draco knew. He was just not sure that he was in the mood to be in anyone’s company at the moment.

Astoria’s brown eyes were wide in worry as she regarded him. "I heard that you're back."

Draco didn't ask where she heard that. Maybe the entire transportation department in the ministry was alerted by the sudden and strange long-distance Portkey. Maybe everyone knew he was gone for a while and had returned at last. Maybe Draco should be worried too.

"I am," he said instead, forcing himself to smile. "I have a wedding to prepare for."

She gave him an intense stare full of concern. "We got everything sorted before you left," she said gently. "I didn't think you'd be back this soon."

"Well, there must be more to prepare," Draco insisted, dodging the unspoken question. "We'll be starting a new life. Together. We have a lot to get ready for."

For a moment, Draco dreaded that Astoria would push the matter, but he sighed with relief when the witch just nodded in silent understanding. She reached out to take Draco’s hand and pulled him inside, her other hand waving her wand to dry Draco’s drenched robe.

In the years to come, Draco would remember this as the moment he started falling in love with the best friend he ever had in life.

* * *

#### May 2010

Gringotts was as he remembered from the last time he came to see his family’s vault get emptied. The brick walls were as cold and impenetrable, the goblins were as creepy with the unbearable air of businesslike unfriendliness.

But this time Draco didn’t head to the Malfoys’ vault that was once full of gold. After one nauseating ride on a minecart with a goblin who couldn’t look more bored if he tried, Draco and Engel stood in front of Vault 687 of Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

Once the goblin opened the door with a small gold key, Engel gestured him inside. “After you, Mr. Malfoy.”

What welcomed him was an almost empty vault with just small heaps of coins in one corner, next to them was a stack of wooden crates. Draco knew the Potters weren’t nearly as wealthy as the Malfoys used to be, but he knew there should have been more than this.

As if reading his thoughts, Engel stepped next to him and said, “Most of the wealth has been allocated as to the wish of the deceased. The goblins are notoriously fast when it comes to moving people’s funds like this.”

“I, of all people, know that.,” Draco said distractedly, not really meaning to sound bitter.

But Engel almost looked sheepish and cleared his throat. “Well, Mr. Malfoy, as you see, those golds are the last of the Potters’ monetary wealth. The Ministry hasn’t decided which other charities it should be donated to,” he said. “The personal belongings were separated into those crates. You can start going through them and decide which one you want to keep and what you will let to be destroyed.”

Draco knew the deal he had with Weasley and Granger. He would go into Potter’s vault, claim all his personal belongings, and send them straight to the remaining two of the Golden Trio. But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t just do it like that.

He needed to know why Potter wrote his name in his will. And this was the only way to get the answer.

If he had to be honest, Draco was scared to find out the answer. He couldn’t decide whether he truly wanted to know or not, but one part of him knew he needed it. Harry Potter had planned to return to Draco’s life after his own ended, and he must have a reason for that. Even if Draco wouldn’t like the reason, it would at least be a closure for the overdue solution of this old mystery.

_Fuck Potter and the effect he has on me even after his death_ , Draco mentally cursed as he walked to the crates.

There weren’t that many crates to go through, only four moderate-sized crates stacked on top of each other. Draco wondered how long it would be to find the answer he was looking for. Would it be carefully concealed? Potter had always been an enigma to him after all. Would it take a lot of time inside this vault? Weasley and Granger knew he was going to Gringotts today. Were they waiting for him to deliver the stuff? Would it be suspicious if he took too long?

It turned out that Draco didn’t need to worry at all. The answer was in front of him the moment he opened the first crate on the stack.

There, among Potter’s textbooks from his years in Hogwarts, was Draco’s old journal. Brown, leather-bound journal decorated with a pattern of golden vines. He hadn’t seen it in over seven years, but he remembered clearly where he left it—and where Potter would possibly find it.

Draco gingerly took his journal from the crate. With slightly trembling fingers, he opened the cover page of it, and a little metal thing fell to the ground. Puzzled, Draco picked it up.

It was a little rusty key. Draco still remembered what that key would open.

Quickly, Draco flipped through the pages. He was sure he never filled more than half of the journal in the past, but he found that the brown book was nearly full at the moment. The rest was written in that untidy handwriting he would recognize every time. Draco felt this chest constricted painfully as his heartbeat accelerated.

Draco’s hands got even shakier when he resolutely shut the journal. He needed an answer and now that the answer finally presented itself in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the ignorance. As Potter had returned to mess the life he had so carefully built, Draco felt like he needed to return to where the riddle was buried and left unsolved.

Taking a deep breath, he stared down at the small key lying innocently on his palm. Potter had invited him after all.


	2. Chapter 2

## PART TWO: THE RETREAT

#### January 2003

In over two decades of his life, Draco hadn’t travelled that much. In fact, other than a few summer trips to France and one visit to the Durmstrang Institute when he was a kid, Draco never had any opportunity to leave Great Britain. During his childhood, he considered the expansive ground of Malfoy’s property in Wiltshire as his whole universe—and for a lonely boy who grew without any siblings, it was more than enough for him. Soon after he enrolled in Hogwarts, the castle and the magical land surrounding it became his new universe.

It’s not that Draco didn’t like exploring the world, discovering what it had to offer, he just relished in the consistency of home. How it had always been the grounding constant amid the chaos of his life. Until, of course, his home couldn’t contain all the disruption happening outside of it. Chaos infiltrated his home, the manor his ancestors built with pride and the school he thought would always be a safe sanctuary for him.

At this point, Draco wasn’t sure he still had a place to call a home.

Maybe it was because of that sense of disconnection that Draco barely felt anything that he was now over ten thousand kilometres away from where he was born, in a country when the people speak in a language he didn’t know. He had never been so far anyway from anything that was familiar in his life.

Then again, travelling this far was not the only thing he checked out from his First Time list this afternoon. If anyone told Draco five years ago he would one day be taking a fifteen hours flight on a Muggle plane from London to Bali, he would easily call them mental. But five years ago Draco had everything he could ask for, and Harry Potter was just a petty rival of his. Things changed a lot in five years.

So here was Draco Malfoy, walking uncertainly with his suitcase on the unfamiliar ground of Ngurah Rai Airport, located in a city he didn’t even know exist until a few days ago when the plane ticket arrived at his door. Right now, he looked around the buzzing crowd of excited tourists from all over the world, trying to find the sender of the said ticket among them.

“Draco, over here!”

He turned around to find Potter emerging from a little crowd of what Draco assumed was the locals. It was almost amusing to see how well Potter blended in, with his dark hair and slightly tanned skin, completed by his sleeveless shirt and pair of shorts.

“How was your flight?” Potter asked as soon as he reached him.

“It was—,” Draco stopped to consider his answer. “It was an experience, I guess.”

Potter laughed. “Was it bad?”

“They said we were having some turbulence and the plane started to shake like crazy. I was trying to find out where I was to calculate if I could think of a place near enough to Apparate in case the whole thing exploded.”

Shaking his head, Potter laughed harder. “But it didn’t, did it?”

“It was a wonder it didn’t, honestly. How those Muggles manage to fly a giant metal tube for hours without magic is beyond me,” said Draco, recalling his first flight experience with a suppressed shudder. “It’s not supposed to work, logically.”

“I heard they used science instead of logic,” Harry said with a grin.

Draco raised his eyes. “Of course you know all about it.”

Harry only snorted in response and moved to take the suitcase from Draco’s hand. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Draco frowned. “I can carry that,” he said as he tried to snatch his suitcase back.

But Harry already walked ahead of him, forcing him to scramble to follow in fear of losing him in the crowded airport. “I was the one inviting you here, just let me be a proper gentleman for once,” he said once Draco fell into steps next to him.

“Inviting me here? What, you’re a local now?” Draco half scoffed.

“Am I not doing a good job looking like one?” Harry said lightly, his grin widened.

Draco gave him a once-over and promptly looked away with a faint blush. Up close like this, Potter’s exposed skin was a little too much to handle. He was not used to looking so much of that golden skin in the daylight. Potter seemed to notice this reaction and Draco caught him smirking from the corner of his eyes.

If Draco’s body heated up a bit, he blamed it on the blazing sun above his head.

“Where are we doing, actually?” he asked Potter to distract himself.

“A Portkey station. Our lodging is still quite far from here.”

Humming quietly, Draco asked again, “so we’re allowed to use a Portkey, now?”

“Of course, the Portkey here is only registered for local administration. No one could get that data to know we are here.”

That made sense. Potter’s only reason to ask him to take a Muggle plane was just that registering for international Portkey would raise questions from people at home. Draco knew that Potter himself took a flight to get here a couple of weeks earlier, and he was still wondering what kind of excuse he came up with that his family let him go.

At the thought of that, Draco wanted to laugh. The lengths they took to conceal their relationship. He even flew across the globe the Muggle way. Lucius would die from a heart attack if he knew—assuming he still had the energy to care.

“You’d love the wizarding community here,” Potter piped up suddenly.

“Oh yeah?” Draco raised his eyebrows. “And why is that?”

“You’ll see.”

“How mysterious, Potter.”

Harry laughed again, quietly. Draco hadn’t been an hour in this foreign place but he already loved it. There was something here that shifted whatever was between the two of them. Maybe it was the air, or the tropical heat, or the fact that no one here knew or cared about who they were. The liberated feeling was reflected in the easy way Potter laughed, how much he smiled, his light posture, and Draco could feel it affecting him as well.

“Anyway, why am I still Potter? Can’t we just be Harry and Draco here?” Potter’s tone was casual, but Draco could hear a hint of hope in it.

Why couldn’t they?

Well, rationally, because this was all a bad idea in and of itself. What did Draco think when he impulsively jumped onto the plane to ride more than half a day long flight here? Nothing, he didn’t let himself think and just let his heart guide him. To a small island thousands of miles away from London. To Potter.

But he was here now and nothing else mattered. So, why couldn’t they be Harry and Draco, just two men with feelings more intense than anyone could explain, just lovers?

At the end, Draco smiled. If it’s not now, then when? “Harry is it, then.”

* * *

The Portkey brought Draco and Harry to a small village in the far north of Bali island. One step into the village, Draco could easily tell that they were indeed in a wizarding community—the magic in the air was so prominent after hours being in the Muggle world. He would even say that the magic here felt thicker than it did in his Manor, which said a lot. The strength of the magic depended on how long it had been there. The Malfoys first resided in Wiltshire in the eleventh century, and the only place Draco knew had stronger magic was Hogwarts. The fact that the magic radiated from this village was even stronger still, Draco wondered how ancient this community was.

There was something almost sacred about the place. Draco looked around him. The path he was walking on was narrow, but the houses it connected were far apart, separated by rice fields and vegetable gardens and sometimes just empty land. There were a few people lounging in front of every house, sitting leisurely on their porch, seemingly enjoying the bright afternoon sun. Every time the people noticed them, they’d offer a welcoming smile and a nod, which Harry simply replied with the same kind of acknowledging nod.

“Did you already befriend everyone around here?” Draco asked, a little more intrigued than he would like to admit.

“Hardly,” answered Harry, smiling. “It’s just the custom here. Everyone is so friendly. In no time, you’ll find them trying to engage you in conversations.”

If he had to be honest, speaking to strangers was not Draco’s favorite pastime. But he was in their land, thousands of miles from his own. Like what people said, in Rome, do as the Romans do. “Do they speak English?”

“No. Many of them don’t even speak Indonesian, which is the official language of their country. Most talk in their local language here.”

Draco stopped and frowned at him. “So how did you survive two weeks living here so far?”

Harry laughed. “Don’t worry, we have our translator,” he said. “Speaking of.” He looked ahead at their narrow path.

Following Harry’s gesture, Draco turned his head to see a girl half running towards them, her excitedly waving hand almost in sync with her swinging ponytail.

“Harry!” she called.

When she reached them, Draco belatedly realized that the girl was actually a woman, maybe a few years older than him, but her figure was so petite that she could easily pass as a little girl from afar. Standing in front of her, Draco mentally estimated about a feet height difference between them. Her skin was a beautiful shade of dark brown, almost golden under the sunlight, and she stared at him with her equally dark brown eyes.

“You must be Draco,” she said with her thickly accented voice. “I’m Gita. It’s so nice to meet you.” She offered him her hand.

Draco took it and gave a gentle squeeze. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said politely.

“I’m glad you’re finally here. Harry couldn’t stop talking about your arrival,” Gita said, her lips stretched into a cheeky grin.

“Hey!” protested Harry.

“What? You did,” she teased. “By the way, welcome to Ajawera, Draco.”

“Ajawera,” Draco repeated the foreign name slowly. “It’s a beautiful place.”

“Thank you,” Gita beamed. “Ajawera literally means ‘don’t tell anyone’ in Balinese, the same term to say the secret teachings of Hinduism. The non-magical people use that to refer to our little wizarding community because, well, maybe they see us as a secret myth? People that shouldn’t exist? It’s also quite fitting, since we can’t disclose our identity to them,” she explained, her tone excited. “Anyway, I think that’s just a pretty cool thing to share about my village. Hopefully not the only cool thing here, though.”

After listening to Gita’s half rambling, Draco turned to Harry and huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t tell anyone?”

“Well,” Harry shrugged, “as she said, it’s fitting.”

Draco could only laugh harder, feeling Gita give him a curious look. It was _so_ fitting. He couldn’t be sure if Harry chose this place with such a name on purpose, going as far as finding a small island right on the equator line just to find an escape that had a mockingly suitable name. Either way, Draco loved this village already.

“Why are we talking on the street? Let’s go to your cottage, I’ll bring some lunch Meme cooked earlier,” said Gita, ushering them to get going again.

Letting his laugh die down, Draco shook his head and gave Harry a meaningful look. “Ajawera,” he repeated the name again under his breath.

* * *

It was not hard to fall even harder for this whimsical village. Ajawera was nothing like anywhere Draco knew before. It was located in the middle of Indonesia’s most popular tourism destination, but this village was very obscured and secluded. Draco and Harry were the only visitors at the moment. The Balinese wizarding community was so small, only comprised roughly one thousand wizards and witches living together in their relatively vast land, almost fully self-subsistent. Living in the fertile land of Agung mountain’s valley, they grew their crops for personal consumption using intricate farming spells and charms, independently brewed the Potions to cure their sickness, and created practically anything they needed by themselves.

All that form of self-reliance fascinated Draco. He never realized the complicated way his society operated back in England until he threw himself to this place where everything was so simple. Everyone seemed to naturally possess powerful magic, as it was the one thing that kept them going for so long.

“They used to be more of us here,” Gita told him while she was stirring a cauldron full of Sunblock Potion—made specifically for Draco and Harry as no one else here seemed to need it. “The population has been decreasing since the younger folks left this village for a job or education, but never returned. You’ll notice there aren’t many people my age, or your age, around here.”

Draco, who had been helping her chop the ingredients, turned to her in curiosity. “Where do people go if they leave?”

“Usually to Jakarta or other big cities to find jobs,” she answered. “Most people aim for the government jobs there, but more often than not they end up serving non-magical people for cash or some other petty works.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose high as he stopped the knife in his hand. “Serving Muggles with their magic? Isn’t it illegal?”

“Oh, it is,” Gita said lightly with a shrug. “It’s pretty harsh for the wizards who live in the cities to make their ends meet. Some of them try to hide their magic to get non-magical jobs, some just use it to make money—and both are illegal according to law here. But it’s not like our government cares about them doing those illegal stuff, anyway.”

“Wow,” Draco breathed in wonder. He couldn’t imagine ever having a point in his life so low that he had to resort to serving Muggles. He didn’t think he would even consider it an option. But here he was, being introduced to a whole new world of hard paths where survival was the only thing that mattered. “Is that why you’re staying here?”

“Not really. I actually got my qualification to work in the government office, but I came back after school for Meme.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, Draco only nodded in acknowledgement. Meme was how Gita called his mother, a cheerful witch in her mid-fifties who somehow looked both ten years younger and older than her actual age at the same time. Her friendly and outgoing demeanor made her seem younger. Yet when someone tried to look closer, they would easily find the lines on her face, deeper than other women her age, created from years of hardship. Gita told him in the passing that her mother lost two of her children before she had her. And later, when Gita was barely old enough, her father left them, making her raise the little girl alone. And since then, it was just the two of them, Gita and her strong mother.

Meme, who asked Draco and Harry to also call her that, was strong and magically powerful enough to single-handedly work on her family’s fields everyday, leaving Gita to do the rest of house chores and help their elderly neighbors. Today, though, she was leaving with Harry in the morning since the man insisted on helping. Draco wondered when the two would be back.

“But it’s not like I hate this place,” Gita added a moment later.

Draco smiled at her in understanding. “I can’t imagine anyone hating this place.”

He looked around him. It was early afternoon and the sun was blazing so hot above him that he had to stay under the shadow of a big lime tree in Gita’s garden, where she was brewing her Potion. He didn’t hate it, though. He couldn’t. There was something so special from being nearer to the sun. Maybe it was just the foreign feeling of it, the temperature and humidity that he didn’t usually have back in England, that made every simple action he did here feel very liberating. Or maybe it was the clear air, or the smiling faces of strangers, or the unfamiliar yet delicious food Meme had been feeding him.

Ajawera, for some reasons, felt like a safe haven. A sanctuary.

“Oh! They’re back!” Gita exclaimed, prompting Draco to turn around to find Meme and Harry walking side by side, a few sacks of newly harvested crops levitating behind them.

Meme flicked her wand and the sacks flew smoothly to the inside of their house, likely placing themselves in the tiny storage next to their kitchen. She then stopped to exchange a few words with Gita in their native language, offered a warm smile to Draco, and went inside. Unlike her daughter, Meme couldn’t speak English, but for Draco, the wordless interactions between them were more than enough.

Harry approached them, a smile of his own on his face. “Is the Potion ready?” he asked Gita.

“Not yet, I need to let it simmer under the sun until sunset. It’ll be ready by tonight.”

Nodding, Harry turned to Draco and grinned. “So can you leave your protective shade and join me around tomorrow?” he questioned playfully.

Draco just huffed a laugh.

Or maybe it was just Harry. Draco knew him since he was an awkward eleven year old boy who was just introduced to magic, and practically watched him grow up into the Savior everyone adored. But from all those years he knew Harry, Draco never saw him this carefree. Like he no longer had any burden on his shoulders. As though Ajawera helped dissipate all his concerns, leaving a content and peaceful man to discover a life like he never knew before. And Draco loved this place for it.

“I’m going inside to make lunch,” Gita announced, standing up. Before leaving, she looked at Draco’s work and nodded in approval. “Just put the ginger into the cauldron and stir it twice when you’re finished. Oh, and better slice them into smaller bits.”

“Okay. I’ll help with lunch after I’m done here,” said Draco.

When they were alone in the garden, Harry came to sit next to him, watching him slice the gingers on a wooden chopping board with interest.

“Having fun?”

Draco smiled. “Yes. How are the fields?”

“I was barely any help for Meme,” he said with a little laugh. “I have no knowledge of farming spells, and Meme can’t teach me anything in her language. It was still fun, though.”

“I’m glad it was.”

Not only Harry, it seemed like Ajawera changed Draco as well—lifting all his burdens, putting his worries aside, and filling the emptiness inside him. Here, Draco felt how easy it was to just be himself, and to let himself be around Harry. Be _with_ Harry. And everything felt so real.

“It’s nice, isn’t it, this place?” Harry said wistfully, leaning against the wide tree trunk.

Draco hummed in affirmation.

“I hope this is good enough.”

Turning to him, Draco asked, “for what?”

Harry caught his eyes and smiled, this time with a hint of sorrow and regret. “For our farewell.”

But, of course, nothing was real. They were still running on borrowed time. Here, back in England, or anywhere they might escape to, their end would always be inevitable. Draco would get married soon and Harry would do whatever he planned to do next. They ran away far enough, but they couldn’t run forever.

But still. It felt almost real here, and Draco would take anything he could get, any last moment he could have. If they had to part ways soon, he at least wanted to have this for now.

“This is more than good enough.”

* * *

“ _Pirang_!”

A tiny girl, barely reaching Draco’s hips, pointed out to his head excitedly. Draco didn’t know where she came from. He was sitting alone on the porch of Gita’s house, waiting for Harry so they could leave and return to their cottage for the night together, and this little girl just came out of nowhere. He was sure he was completely alone before.

“Excuse me?” he asked hesitantly, knowing the girl wouldn’t understand him but still trying to be polite to her.

“ _Pangeran Pirang_ ,” she said in a whispered awe, scooting closer with apparent interest.

Draco didn’t hate kids, he really didn’t, but being raised as an only child, he had no experience in handling them. He couldn’t barely deal with those who speak the same language as him, so he was certainly at a loss with the ones he couldn’t communicate with. As the girl moved even closer, reaching out her tiny hand while repeating the same foreign words from earlier, Draco tried to hide his horror.

Before Draco could shout for help to Gita, the woman emerged from her house as if summoned, Harry in tow. Draco secretly let out a breath of relief when the little girl stopped her attempt to touch him as she saw the two coming, only a few inches left between them.

Gita furrowed her brows at the girl and crouched down near her. She talked to her in their language, which the little girl answered with the same excitement as before, her finger pointing at Draco again. Draco could only exchange a confused look with Harry, who curiously watched the entire thing.

Suddenly, Gita threw her head back and laughed.

“What did she say?” Draco asked, hesitantly peering into the girl’s huge brown eyes. “What does _pirang_ mean?”

“ _Pirang_ means blond hair,” Gita answered, still half laughing. “And _pangeran_ means prince. She said you look like a prince from a fairytale with that blond head of yours. She wants to touch your hair to see if it's real.”

Certainly not expecting that, Draco felt his cheeks heat up. He could hear Harry snicker quietly next to him. “Why does her idea of a prince look like me?” Draco questioned, incredulous.

“My fault.” Gita shook his head. “I brought a lot of storybooks about western fairytales to teach English to the kids around here, ones with blond princes riding white horses. I believe she got that from there,” she said, grinning. “There might be many blond foreigners in the other parts of Bali, but I’m afraid your kind is quite rare to find in Ajawera, Draco.”

“You teach English to the kids?” Harry asked, joining in the conversation.

Gita nodded. “English, Indonesian, reading, math. Just anything to prepare the kids for school. And very informal, just like casual afternoon classes every now and then.” She turned to the girl and ruffled her hair affectionately. “This is Maya, by the way. One of my students.”

Draco gazed at the girl—Maya—again.She was still staring at him with wonder and the corners of his lips twitched upward. This was ridiculous, but he couldn’t deny the whole thing was very endearing. And quite flattering. “Hi, Maya,” he regarded her gently, offering his hand. “I’m Draco.”

Maya turned to Gita as if asking for permission. The woman just raised her eyebrows and nodded. Almost hurriedly, Maya grabbed Draco’s hand and shook it with immense enthusiasm. When she let go, she waved her hand with a high-pitched squeal, as though shaking hands with her prince was the best thing she ever experienced.

Next to Draco, Harry laughed hard, his palm patting his back in his mirth while Draco could only chuckle, trying to hide his blush. This little girl was just too adorable.

“She said she wants to touch your hair, Draco,” Harry teased. “Why don’t you let her?”

Draco huffed incredulously. But, after Gita translated what Harry said to Maya, the girl turned to Draco again and stared expectantly with her huge eyes, almost pleading. And how could Draco deny her anything if she looked at him with those pleading eyes?

“Fine, you can touch,” he said in defeat, but not without a hint of amusement and a short breath of laugh. He bowed down low to let his long hair fall around his face, the straight strands spilled from behind his shoulders. “It’s just hair, though, nothing special.”

But it seemed special enough for Maya. She ran her fingers through Draco’s locks, caressing it softly, before she let out another high-pitched squeal. She turned to Gita and started to ramble excitedly, making the woman laugh again.

“She said the prince’s hair is so soft,” she translated. “And she will definitely brag to her friends about touching your hair.”

“She won’t.” Draco’s eyes widened.

“Well, if suddenly there are kids harassing you to get a touch on that fine hair, you know who to blame,” said Gita, glancing at the grinning girl. She said something to Maya in their language, which Maya returned with a pout and a seemingly reluctant nod.

A moment later, Maya disappeared with a pop.

Draco gasped. “Did she just… did she just Apparate?” He turned to Harry, wanting to confirm what he just witnessed, and the man returned his look with raised brows, slight astonishment glinting from his eyes.

“I’ve seen something like that a few times now but it still amazes me every time,” Harry said.

“But… she can’t be older than seven. She doesn’t even have a wand!” Draco muttered in disbelief.

Gita stared at the spot Maya was standing just a moment before. “Yeah, Harry said about the law in your place that wizards can only Apparate when they reach seventeen. I think that the minimum age for Apparition has started being implemented in other big cities, but in traditional communities like this, you can find children as young as five Apparating all over the place.”

Draco still couldn’t believe it. “But how can they Apparate? How can young children stabilize their magic to do something as advanced as Apparition?”

“Well, strictly speaking, they don’t Apparate, technically. It’s more like a protection spell cast by their parents. In short, the parents link their magic to the child’s magic, and it allows the child to go anywhere within the range determined by the parents. It’s very useful if you can’t watch your kids play when you tend to the fields.”

Confused, Draco turned to Harry again, silently asking if this was supposed to make sense. The man just shrugged. “I guess magic works differently in different places,” he said.

“Is it that amazing to you?’ Gita asked, genuinely curious.

“Of course!” Draco blurted out. “That girl… she seemed to Disapparate at will. How does that even work?”

Gita furrowed her brows in thought. “It’s like… a Side-Along Apparition but you don’t join the Apparition. Like sending your kids to the place they want to go and pick them up back to home.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” Draco shook his head. “Apparating alone is dangerous enough. It requires so much focus that a little slip can cause a life-threatening Splinching. You’re not supposed to Apparate with a toddler, and you’re telling me people here just… fling their children with Apparition-like magic?”

“Well, that sounds like an irresponsible thing to do if you put it that way.” Gita frowned a little, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “But like I said, it was not exactly Apparition. The protection bond between parents and children is so easy and natural to use once it was formed. We don’t even use a wand to perform it.”

Draco’s jaw dropped from the explanation. A _wandless_ Side-Along Apparition when you didn’t even Apparate along the person you send from one location to another? He felt dizzy from just thinking about how that magic was supposed to work.

Beside him, Harry shifted forward to look at Gita properly. “I never asked this before, but how can the parents know where the kids want to go or when they want to go home?”

“Ah, that one is just like Apparition. The kids think of the place and the magical link will let the parents know about the location. If they approve, the parents will send their kids there, and bring them back again when they think about their home. Or when it’s their time to go home, I guess.”

Draco shook his head again, trying to let go of his lingering disbelief. “I never knew you could have a link to connect your magical core and your child’s,” he breathed, completely in awe.

“It's ancient magic, basically just taking advantage of the blood relation between parents and their children. Very simple in theory, really, but many wizarding communities don’t use it. I don’t know why, all you need are just magic, familial bond, and deep love for your child,” Gita explained, voice wistful, as she tilted her head toward the starry night with a smile. “I remember when Meme used to send me across the village to play dodgeball with my friends and then had me Apparate back for dinner.”

Later, when Draco walked slowly with Harry to their shared cottage, he found that he couldn’t shake the new knowledge of magical core connection from his head. How would it feel, to have your magic linked to your parents’? He thought of himself as a kid, playing on the Manor’s ground. He soon realized that their parents wouldn’t need that kind of magic in the first place. Unlike here, no matter how far little Draco ventured, he would still be within the Malfoys’ property. And there would always be a couple house elves watching him, anyway. There was no need for Lucius Malfoy to personally use his magic and monitor his son all day.

But people here didn’t have house elves or a ridiculously vast garden for their children to play at. The connection would be extremely useful for parents to go on their daily activities while still constantly watching their children. It was such beautiful, loving magic, and Draco couldn’t help but enving the strong bond the families shared here.

He glanced at Harry, humming an off-key tune as he walked. Absently, Draco thought the Potters could really use this magic in the First Wizarding War. If only Harry’s parents could Apparate baby Harry to safety, away from the Dark Lord in his plan to end him, maybe he wouldn't have ended up as The Boy Who Lived. Maybe the First War would end differently. But no, Lily Potter had to sacrifice herself to protect her son.

As another thought came to his mind, Draco furrowed his brows. Ancient magic. Protection spell. Familial bond. Love.

“Can that be similar to the magic that allowed you to defeat the Dark Lord for the first time?” Draco asked suddenly.

Harry, startled, halted his steps, his tune cut abruptly. “What?”

“The connection of magical cores we talked about earlier. You… your mother’s sacrifice gave you a magical protection against the Dar—Voldemort,” Draco forced himself to say the name. It had been almost two years, he could stop calling the mad man _Lord_ , for Salazar’s sake. “Can that be the same ancient magic Gita described before? She said it’s also ancient magic powered by love.”

Blinking slowly, Harry seemed to digest his words. “Do you think it’s similar?”

Draco hummed, thoughtful. “Plausible theory, no?” he said. “I need to look it up further, though.”

“It’s plausible, yeah,” Harry said quietly, a little frown on his face. A thought seemed to fleet through his mind and a small smile appeared. “It’s truly amazing, right? That you can be connected with your children through magic.”

Draco made a noise of agreement. It was amazing. Just when Draco thought he knew all about magic, was so familiar with it all his life, he was being reminded of the scope of it he was yet to discover.

“You should try that, when you have your own child in the future.”

Harry’s tone was so carefully off-hand that Draco wanted to snort a laugh. It was as though Harry was so intent to remind him that everything that was happening at the moment was merely temporary. Like he didn’t want Draco to be attached. Like he needed Draco to remember that this was supposed to be their farewell.

As if Draco would need a reminder for that. Their time was ticking. Soon, he would have to return everything he borrowed, inflated by the interest.

“Maybe I would,” Draco said, hating how he could hear the pained edge in his voice.

It was obvious that Harry caught that, too. He went silent for a moment, looking down at his feet, before gesturing for them to walk again. Draco could only oblige.

Despite how much Draco associated this place with the sun, the nights in Ajawera were a lot more magical for him. The air was so clear that the cloudless night meant a sky full of twinkling stars, scattered from end to end. There wasn't that much light coming from the houses either, only a few lamps flickering warm light, barely enough to illuminate the village path. It was almost as though everyone agreed to give the stars their chance to shine. Draco felt a thick blanket of cosmic tranquility wrapped snugly around this village.

A few minutes of an unhurried walk later, they arrived in their little cottage. It was a tiny building, erected at the end of the dirt path right next to the woods. Gita said an elderly couple built it years ago, in hope their son would be back with a bride after he tried his chance in the city. The son did get married, but never returned, making the cottage pretty much abandoned after the elderly couple died and no one came to claim it as their inheritance. It was a sad story, that this lovely little cottage, very traditional yet cozy, was never loved. And now this place would witness their farewell and Draco’s heartbreak.

On the door, Harry rummaged his pocket, trying to find the key. In Ajawera, no house was protected with a ward. Gita said this community was pretty much a big family, and warding your house from family would simply be ridiculous. In fear of insulting the villagers, Harry decided to not ward the cottage, but he seemed to understand that neither of them would be comfortable doing what they do without a layer of security for their privacy. That was why Harry came up with the idea of using a Muggle lock.

Harry opened the door for Draco, lighting the room with the wand in his other hand. As Draco walked in, he caught Harry throwing a hesitant smile at him—and Draco recognized it instantly. A peace offering. A silent apology for earlier.

Mentally, Draco wondered why it was so easy to forgive Harry. Too easy. Maybe because he never had a right to be mad at him in the first place.

So Draco returned his smile, offering an outstretched hand to invite him in. Harry took it with a grateful sigh, his expression relieved.

But Harry was nothing but an overachiever. He would probably offend himself if he didn’t go an extra mile for everything. He brought Draco’s hand up to his lips, softly kissing the knuckles.

His green eyes met Draco’s, a spark of gentle excitement in them. “Let’s watch a sunset tomorrow.”

Would there be a day when Draco could predict what Harry would do? Probably not. Considering their limited time, his chance was too slim.

“Where?”

“At a beach,” Harry answered, the silent _of course_ was obvious from his tone. “We’re in Bali, we have to visit a beach, Draco.”

“But we are the foot of a mountain.” Draco arched his brow.

“I went there once before you came, the beach isn’t that far. We can Side-Along to reach it,” Harry said, a flash of hope in his eyes. “It’s really beautiful, I promise. You’d love it.”

Draco stared at him. Harry. Oh, sweet Harry. How far he would go to make this good for him. Harry didn’t owe him anything, and Draco owed him _everything_. Yet here they were, in a getaway carefully planned by the Savior before their inevitable time to part ways. Just for what? Honouring their time together in the past five years? Draco could barely understand those years, their borrowed time that stretched so long.

It was clear that Harry didn’t want him to understand what it was between them, what they were. He wouldn’t let him understand. He gave Draco their time, and he soon would end it his way. And Draco knew he would take anything offered to him.

“Sure,” Draco said, giving him an earnest smile.

Then he let Harry pull him into their bed.

* * *

“That’s why we’re here, right? To have us in the present.”

Darkness had almost fully fallen by now, the sun had completely retreated to the horizon, leaving Harry and Draco with the last hue of orange lingering in the sky. Draco closed his eyes, intently listening to the gentle sound of the waves crashing, the whispers of the breeze, the even breaths Harry took next to him—very noticeable with how the man was pressed close to his side, his strong arm circling Draco’s shoulders.

The shift between them was so palpable after that, the change of atmosphere almost tangible. Draco could feel it in the air they shared, in the way Harry touched him, in the way Draco accepted the touches. This was going to be what they were now. Harry and Draco here, in this place right now, with no concern about what tomorrow would bring them.

But before they completely transformed to whoever they wanted to be for now, Draco had another thing to ask. One other thing he wanted to know before the future would stop to matter for them, at least for the time being.

“Where are you going after this?”

Harry didn’t answer immediately. He hummed as though thinking about the question, and Draco could feel the vibration from his chest. Waiting for the reply, Draco shifted in Harry’s arm to watch the last streak of scarlet slowly leaving the sky.

“Staying here for a bit longer, maybe. Learning those farming spells,” Harry replied eventually. “Then I’d love to find other secluded magical communities like this. There must be a lot of magic still unknown to me.”

That didn’t sound like a bad idea. Ajawera had been an amazing place so far. Thinking there were more heaven-like places like this scattered on Earth, waiting to be discovered, each with its own secrets and magic, thrilled Draco. But of course, that was not his path to take.

“All alone?”

“Going to new places means I can meet new people,” Harry said, not quite answering the question.

“For how long?”

Harry leaned his head against Draco’s and sighed. “I don’t know.”

This far, Draco couldn’t help but keep pressing. “Will you be back?”

“I don’t know.”

Tentatively, Draco sneaked his arm around Harry’s waist, holding him. “I always wondered what you said to your family back in Britain when you decided you left,” Draco said, not asking this time—he wasn’t sure Harry would answer. “And why.”

As he expected, Harry didn’t give him an answer. He just made a dismissive noise and scooted closer. Draco knew it was his cue to stop asking, to stop trying to understand their past and predict their future. But Draco pushed his luck by asking the last one.

“Is it what you want? A solo adventure far from home?”

He could almost hear a smile in Harry’s voice when he replied, “I don’t know. It might be, later in the future.”

“And what do you want for now?”

“I want what you asked,” he said, turning to face Draco, letting him see the small smile on his face. “Us in the present.”

They stayed there in silence for a while, arms around each other and a soft smile on their faces, wistful for whatever _us_ would mean for them at the moment. They stared and stared, until one of them—Draco couldn’t be sure who—leaned into the little space left between them. It might be both at the same time, or one prompted by the other to meet in the middle, but it didn’t matter as soon as Draco felt the soft press of Harry’s lips on his.

It was more than just a kiss. It was a promise, a seal. A solemn vow to mark the beginning of what they passionately called _us_. They had shared countless kisses by now; hungry kisses in the middle of the night fueled by mere lust, kisses drove solely by their need to not feel alone, simple kisses here and there just because. Nothing felt like this kiss.

The way Harry moved his lips against Draco’s was like a whispered promise. Draco felt giddy, and thrilled, and just a tad scared with how intimate it was. He wanted it, he assured himself, he wanted it now. Future be damned.

When they broke apart, Draco could barely see their surroundings. It was completely dark, the ocean almost pitch black. He blinked a few times to adjust with the lack of light before Harry pulled out his wand and cast a Lumos. The sight of Harry’s smiling face illuminated by the soft, flickering light from the tip of his wand was something Draco wanted to remember forever.

“Come on, let’s go back,” Harry whispered to him, pulling him up and preparing to Apparate from the beach.

To be Draco and Harry somewhere else, the present following them.

* * *

Draco barely had time to straighten himself from the little tumble of his Apparition landing when he felt Harry’s hands cradling his face. He let out a little gasp when he felt those rough fingers gently hold him, creeping slowly to settle on the nape of his neck. He looked up to meet the burning green eyes, as fiery as they could get even in the darkness of the unlit porch of their small cottage.

It felt different, Harry’s touch. So different yet still very familiar. It was still Harry, the man whose touch he learned to remember in the past years they met behind everyone’s back, but Draco could feel something was not entirely the same. Like a switch had been flipped inside him, and Draco automatically tuned himself to match him.

Seconds passed and neither of them moved, silently inhaling each other.

Until Harry leaned in, lips hovering over Draco’s but not quite touching.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

A violent shiver ran through Draco’s spine, not expecting such a question spoken with so much fervor. Had he? Draco couldn’t remember. He might have, in one of their wilder nights, when the two of them were too far gone to filter their words, too deprived of touch that they didn’t try to hold back. But it was different. In those nights, there was nothing but lust. Nothing but feral need, desperation, and exhaustion. They said things they barely meant, and neither made a big deal of it. Hence why Draco couldn’t be sure if Harry had told him that before.

But tonight was not like that. They were standing in the dark, under the soft moonlight, and something stronger than lust was wrapping them together.

“I don’t think you have,” Draco stated eventually.

The corner of Harry’s eyes crinkled from his smile. “Of course I haven’t,” he said quietly, “I don’t think I could put it into words.”

Draco made a noise that sounded like a laughter, but it could be a sob as well, before he closed the small distance between them and captured Harry’s waiting lips. They kissed and kissed, not knowing or caring who deepened it first, who opened his mouth in invitation. They soon found themselves pushing each other, hands roaming every part of the other’s body.

When those warm fingers found their way to touch the cold skin in his hips, Draco pushed away breathlessly. “Inside,” he gasped.

It was not like people in Ajawera didn’t know they were together, it’s not even that a same sex relationship was frowned upon here, but a public display of affection between lovers beyond innocent hugs was quite taboo. Draco knew the nearest house was almost a hundred meters away, and no one was likely to pass their cottage this late of the night, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that they were breaking some kind of local customs by kissing in the secluded darkness in their temporary property.

Harry seemed to catch on and hurriedly fumbled with his pockets, trying to find the key without taking one of his hands off Draco’s waist. Draco watched him produce the key after a long rummaging and struggled to open the lock, clumsily dropping the key to the ground after his failed second try. Growling in frustration, Harry bent down to pick it up.

The sight of Harry struggling with his Muggle lock was almost too adorable, making the man looking a lot younger than he was, and Draco felt his chest constricted. Suddenly not caring about the fact that they were still technically in public, Draco latched himself to him again, landing wet kisses on his jaw and neck.

Another growl erupted from Harry, this time dripping with desire. His hand on Draco’s hip tightened.

“Fuck, Draco, we need to get inside,” he gritted.

Another unsuccessful attempt and Draco heard the lock banged the door with a loud thud. Worried that Harry would resort to forcefully break the lock with his magic, Draco pulled back and took the key from him, efficiently unlocking it with a quick twist.

Harry was all but kicked the door open, swinging it hard and dragged Draco inside in a blink. They didn’t have time to lock the door again, barely had time to close the door, and they were on each other again, greedily marking each other.

The low growl from Harry was a striking contrast from the way he gently laid Draco down on their bed. Draco’s heart beat impossibly faster as he looked up to those green eyes, illuminated by the hastily lit lamp on their bedside table. There were so many emotions in them, Draco could only identify a few. Lust. It was clear and familiar, he had seen him too many times before. Longing. That was also quite easy to detect—Harry sometimes had that expression when he was feeling particularly lonely in the past. Possessiveness. This was new, but Draco was sure he read it right.

But there was one emotion overpowering the others, fierce and unyielding from the glint of his eyes. Draco saw it before, many times in the past years, but he could never determine its meaning. Usually, it was always veiled behind the lust, as if Harry deliberately hid it from Draco. Tonight, though, that emotion shone brighter than ever.

And tonight, Draco decided to himself what he wanted to interpret it as love.

Why shouldn’t he? They could be whatever they wanted, for now. Draco wanted them to be lovers, so let that burning gaze mean love to him.

Surely, love wouldn’t be as beautiful if it was one sided. Draco wanted it fully, blooming as beautifully as it could, burning as hot as possible. When Draco locked his eyes with Harry’s, he gave everything he had, answering the love he translated for himself with his own, stronger and fiercer.

From the way his gaze softened, Draco could see that Harry understood.

That night, for the first time after almost five years of hungry and deprived fucks, countless nights of not knowing where they stood with each other, after leaving the puzzle unsolved for too long, Harry made love to Draco.

Suddenly, the rush dissipated, the fire gradually died down, leaving fiery embers in its waking. The heat was now steady and constant. Harry rocked into him slowly, as though savoring each stroke, and Draco let every wave of pleasure ripple through his body. They moved together in sync, always meeting the other in the middle. Two bodies merged into one.

When they set a blind eye for the looming end, they were left with all the time in the world.

The heat burned and burned, consuming every nerve in Draco’s body. He clutched at Harry, wanting to feel the heat he emitted from himself, wanting to burn together.

He lost track of time. The whole world blurred beyond them, leaving just the two souls intertwining in their sacred ritual. In that moment, the pain they suffered in the past and would suffer again in the future stopped matter. It was just them, Harry and Draco, in the present, and in _love_.

“Draco,” Harry whispered fervently, pronouncing his name like a prayer.

Draco gently put his hand on the side of Harry’s face, his thumb caressing the fading lightning scar on his forehead. “Harry,” he breathed.

“ _Draco_.”

Before Draco could answer again, Harry thrust deeper, his hips faltering in their slow rhythm. Draco gasped as another wave of pleasure ran through his body like a shiver. Harry leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin just below his ear, tickling Draco with his labored breaths.

“ _Draco_ ,” he said with urgency this time, his whole body was shaking as he was chasing his peak. “ _Draco_.”

“Harry,” Draco panted, his fingers sneaked to Harry’s hair.

His thrusts were getting harder, almost desperate. Harry pulled himself up to his elbows on each of Draco’s head, pressing their foreheads together. Against his lips, he whispered, “call me by your name.”

Draco moaned as another deep stroke hit him just right. He clutched Harry’s broad shoulders, clawing the skin.

“Call me by your name,” Harry repeated, his tone an odd mix between a command and a plea. “Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine.”

“Draco,” Draco gasped breathlessly. “ _Draco_.”

Harry held him impossibly closer. “ _Harry_.”

And the whole world exploded, crumbling around them and rebuilding itself to a new dimension neither of them knew before this. Before Draco was Harry and Harry was Draco, before they became one as naturally as breathing—as though they were meant to be all along.

* * *

Draco woke up to a pair of bright green eyes staring at him.

He squinted his eyes when he shifted and the morning light caught his eyes, still feeling groggy from his deep slumber. After blinking a couple times, the memory of last night washed over him slowly, the sensation akin to a gentle hug in a cold night. The crashing waves, the promise, the love-making. Harry.

No. _Draco_.

He shifted again to turn to his side, finding the green eyes were now crinkled around the corner from Harry’s wide smile.

“Good morning,” Harry said quietly, almost whispering.

“Good morning,” Draco replied, matching his tone, then added after a beat, “Draco.”

Those green eyes were now flashing like they did last night, various emotions battling to come up to the surface at once. Before Draco could dwell on any of them, heat dominated the glint in Harry’s eyes, gradually dilating his pupils. From the sight alone, Draco could almost hear the gears in Harry’s head replaying the images of last night, could almost see himself from Harry’s eyes, writhing with pleasure beneath him.

“Harry,” his lover said. That was the only word Harry uttered before he straddled Draco’s torso and devoured his waiting lips in hungry kisses.

Harry kissed him unhurriedly, his hand reaching out for his wand to summon the lube they let fall somewhere around their bed last night. With the lube in his hand, Harry prepared himself, barely breaking the kiss, gasping a litany of his own name every time Draco grinded his hips up to create friction between their aligned crotches.

Just like last night, they took their time, making love lazily, every little movement intended to make their pleasure simmer and last. Draco couldn’t remember how many times he had Harry ride him in the past, but this morning felt like the first time all over again. The intensity of Harry’s gaze on him, the way Harry moaned his own name to tell how good Draco felt, the way they connected until they became one, neither was aware when one ended and the other began. It lasted longer than any sex they had before, Harry reducing him to an incoherent mess as he was drowning in all the pleasure.

When it was over, Draco didn’t rush to swim back to the surface. Who would have known drowning could be so blissful? Harry lazily cast a quick Scourgify on their sticky bodies before slumping over Draco, lying his head on Draco’s still erratic heart.

They probably should get up, getting ready for the day, but none of them moved. It was too comfortable; the morning, the afterglow, each other’s warm body and slowing heartbeat. They didn’t really have anything to do anyway, Draco couldn’t find a reason to let Harry, sated and sleepy, out of his arms right now.

“Since when?” Harry asked suddenly after a few minutes of silence.

Draco absently thought how it should have scared him how he could instantly understand Harry’s vague question, how he could almost read his mind when they snuggled close like this. “I don’t know, sixth year? Fifth? Maybe even before that, but I only fully realized it after the whole Voldemort business escalated,” he answered, his tone was surprisingly light like it never before when he spoke about the war.

Harry hummed quietly. He seemed to like that answer and rewarded Draco’s honesty with a gentle caress on his chest, rough fingers grazing the old scars he once left there.

“And you?”

Harry’s answer was late by a beat. “After the war, I guess. I couldn’t think of anything else before that,” he said. “But the fact that it was _right_ after the war makes me wonder if it could have started way before if I only could sit long enough to ponder about it.”

“Nothing would have come of it, though,” Draco said thoughtfully.

“You’re right.” Harry paused and sighed. “We promised to not talk about our past, didn’t we?”

Draco let out a low, incredulous laugh. “You’re the one starting it.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

It’s okay, Draco wanted to tell him. It was different. It felt different. They weren’t standing precariously on the edge of a cliff like before, wary of a little nudge that would tip them over, scared that the pain of their past would push them to the end. No, right now was not the same. They were standing in a safe distance from the edge, taking their time, knowing they would jump eventually but decided to live in the moment when the two of them were there together, on top of the world.

Nothing could hurt them when they were in control of their fate, of what kind of pain they would suffer, and when they would have it. This felt like an acceptance, a sweet surrender. Draco never felt more liberated.

“Don’t be, it’s okay,” Draco said, his hand found its way to thread the soft strands of Harry’s dark, curly hair. “Does it make sense if I told you it’s different now? Us, I mean?”

A soft exhale tickled Draco’s skin. “It does. A lot. And I think you know that it does make sense for both of us. You know I feel the same.”

Draco did know, but he didn’t know where that certainty came from. “I do, and I know you know that, too.” Draco paused. “Does it scare you?”

“I feel like it should, but it doesn’t, which is scary in itself,” Harry said. “Are you scared?”

“No.” Draco felt invincible.

He felt Harry’s smile before he heard it in his voice. “Let’s have this, then.”

They stayed in their bed until the sun was high, the temperature rose as the day rolled, forcing them to untangle themselves from each other as the heat became unbearable. They missed their usual breakfast with Gita and Meme but they couldn’t bring themselves to care. After washing up, they were out to walk around the village, no destination in mind.

Just an aimless stroll to enjoy the beautiful, untainted scenery of this little magical village, hand in hand.

* * *

If Gita noticed something shifted between Draco and Harry the next day, she didn’t mention it.

Draco idly wondered how unmistakable the change between them was for an onlooker. It was not like the two of them didn’t act as a couple before, because they certainly did. They were two young men travelling so far from their hometown, renting a small cottage together and practically just playing around all day. Villagers talked to themselves that Draco and Harry were in _bulan madu_ which—Gita told them—was a surprisingly literal translation of honeymoon by dissecting the word into honey and moon. Neither Draco and Harry tried to correct them, partly because of the language barrier and they simply didn’t see the point in that. Explaining their actual situation would be way too much of a bother.

The idea of people not being aware of the change was almost mind-blowing to Draco, because for him, it was as if his whole world was flipped. It felt obvious from how Harry casually took his hand every time they went out for a lazy stroll. It had to be noticeable from the way Draco touched Harry in the most natural way possible, no longer questioning what was allowed between them. It couldn’t be missed from the contented gaze they threw each other.

But it might just be them, just their world. The shift was meant to be a personal catharsis for Draco and Harry.

Right now, Draco and Harry were lounging on Gita’s porch with her, enjoying the last hour of the morning go by while waiting for Meme to return from the field. Gita didn’t comment when Harry shifted on his bench to sit closer to Draco. She didn’t even give them a second glance when Draco responded by putting his hand casually on Harry’s thigh. Maybe nothing was out of the ordinary, after all. Draco wasn’t sure if he should feel disappointed about it or not. It didn’t feel right that something as fundamental to him as the shift in his relationship with Harry was barely a significant change for others.

“Any plans for this afternoon?” asked Gita suddenly. She was lying on her side, munching on a rice cracker as she idly levitate the last clean place to put it on a drying rack.

Harry turned to Draco with an arched brow. Draco shrugged.

“No, we’re as free as we can be,” Harry said. “Need us to do something?”

A sly grin touched Gita’s lips. “I was thinking about bringing you to my afternoon class. Remember Maya?”

“Oh Merlin, Draco’s fan!” Harry exclaimed with a laugh.

“Shut up, she only likes my light hair, that’s it,” Draco denied, embarrassed. Of course he remembered Maya, the cute little girl who squealed after touching his hair, and then disappeared into thin air with an Apparition-like magic. The whole thing was completely bizarre, but the cuteness and innocence of the girl left the biggest impression in his mind.

“I’m pretty sure it’s more than just your hair, Draco,” Gita said conversationally. “And she did brag to her friends after that night, so there would probably be more of those little fans in my class later.”

Harry grinned from ear to ear, seemingly way too pleased with the idea, and slung his arm around Draco’s shoulders casually. “Well, a good prince won’t disappoint his princesses, right?” he teased.

Draco only rolled his eyes, but he easily agreed with the plan. An afternoon spent teaching a bunch of kids sounded lovely enough.

* * *

It turned out to be a bit of a mistake.

The sun was steadily shifting to the west when Gita led them to a wide gazebo made entirely from wood, located between a vast rice field and an empty ground. In the gazebo, around twenty children from various ages were waiting for her, sitting leisurely cross-legged on the wooden floor. As Draco walked toward them, he observed that they were cheerfully chatting with each other in a language Draco recognized as the local tongue. The sight was somewhat picturesque, just a bunch of happy kids gathering with a stunning background of all green.

That stunning scenery was broken when one of the children saw them coming, noticing that their teacher wasn’t alone that afternoon. Draco quickly found Maya amid the others as the girl suddenly rose to her feet and shrieked. From that moment, all hell broke loose.

The kids didn’t waste another second to ambush him.

Before he knew it, Draco was dragged to sit in the middle of the gazebo by a group of excited little girls. With half a dozen of them surrounding him, Draco couldn't be sure if he regretted his decision or not. All the girls were squealing and shrieking excitedly, the more aggressive ones from the group were fighting each other to climb his lap while the others contented themselves by playing with Draco’s loose hair. Draco, not able to understand what they were saying to him let alone tell them off, could only sit there, flushed and just a tad mortified.

Draco was about to plead for help from Gita when another girl, older than the rest—maybe around 10, approached the loud crowd and stood behind Draco. Without words, she took Draco’s poor hair from the little grabbing hands, combed it with her bony fingers, and began skillfully braiding it into one big braid. The others stopped shrieking instantly, watching her work Draco’s hair carefully, enraptured. The two girls who previously fought to sit on his lap decided that there would be enough space for them to share as they settled.

With the sudden quietness, Draco turned to Harry, finding the man wasn’t exactly free either. Harry was standing on the edge of the gazebo and there were three kids—two boys and a girl—dangling cheerfully on his limbs. Draco met his eyes for a second, enough to catch the fluster in Harry’s face and Draco let out an incredulous laugh.

The girl who braided his hair finished her careful work. She slung the freshly braided blond hair over Draco’s left shoulder and the other girls surrounding him audibly gasped in unison. Not a second later, the shrieking and squealing began again.

By this time, Gita had given up from getting her students attention. She tried to call them multiple times, pulling the ones latching to either Draco or Harry free, but to no avail. There seemed to be no way of restoring order to her little class at this point.

“Well, this was a bad idea, I guess,” Gita sighed, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement. She looked around the gazebo, watching the chaos unfold as her students were busy jumping around to get Draco and Harry—two men who couldn’t understand what they were asking from them—to play together. “I was thinking you two could help with teaching English today, but I didn’t anticipate their excitement around new people.”

Draco reached out his arm to catch a girl who twirled on her toes and inevitably lost balance. “Should we leave, then?” he asked Gita, absently hearing Harry grunted a few feet from him.

“And disappoint these elated children?” Gita raised her eyebrows in a calculative expression. “I have a better idea. What do you say about running around a bit this afternoon?”

“I’m down,” Harry answered quickly as he put a scrawny boy to sit on his shoulder, apparently had adapted well enough with the mini wizards and witches ambushing him. “But I don’t know about Draco. The prince is a little delicate.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco retorted, rolling his eyes. He addressed Gita, “are you thinking of a game? That might be a good idea.” Playing actual games sounded far more intriguing than spending his entire afternoon awkwardly acting like a prince for these girls, letting them play with his hair.

“Yes, a local game. I think you’d like it,” Gita said with a grin. She clapped her hands and raised her voice to get the children’s attention, then she talked in her language, complemented by broad hand gestures. Draco of course didn’t understand her words, but her students surely did as they erupted in loud cheers and hurriedly ran to the empty ground next to the gazebo.

Harry put the boy on his shoulders down and he quickly followed his friends. “That was pretty effective,” Harry said.

“Games always do the trick.” Gita winked. “And an empty threat that whoever fails to obey the instructions won’t be allowed to play.”

“Classic.”

“It’s a classic for a reason, right?” Gita walked to a big crate in one corner of the gazebo and pulled out a wooden box and a little black bag from it. “Come on, guys, I need to explain the rules for you.”

When they joined the kids in the middle of the ground, Gita opened the box and took something that looked like a red, flat pebble the size of a child’s palm. “The game is called _kaburan_. Everyone will be separated into two groups, one will play and one will be the opponent,” Gita explained. She held up the flat pebble. “We call this _piring_ , and the players’ mission is to stack twenty of them in a neat pile. If they succeed, they win a point.” She put the pebble back and took a purple, sparkling ball with roughly the size of a bludger in Quidditch. “Now, the opponents’ mission is to make sure the players fail by throwing this ball to them. A player who gets hit will be out of the game. If all players are out before they can stack all the _piring_ , the opponents win a point and we switch the role.”

Harry took a _piring_ from the box and examined it. “Sounds easy enough.”

Gita pulled her wand and waved it around in a wide circular motions. Quite fascinated, Draco watched as lines started forming on the grass, making a considerably big rectangle with a tiny square in one corner. “So this will be your court, everyone in the game stays inside the lines. That square is where the players will have to stack the piring,” Gita continued to explain. “Oh, and the opponents can’t move with the ball. They have to either hit the player on their spot or pass the ball to their team member.”

Draco inspected the bludger-like ball in Gita’s hand and furrowed his brows. “The ball seems quite… unique?”

“Ah, right, so the ball is magically created for children games like this. You can throw it as hard as you want and you won’t hurt the person who gets hit. Though, it will give you a temporary purple stain to make sure you can’t pretend it misses you.”

“Neat,” Harry commented with a whistle.

“I think that’s all about the game,” Gita said. “We have an even number of players here with me as a referee. Should you two be the leader of each team?”

“So I’ll play against Harry?” asked Draco.

A smirk instantly stretched on Harry’s face. “What, scared, Malfoy?”

“You wish, Potter, I just don’t want to embarrass you by showing Gita who the delicate one between us is.”

“You’re funny.”

“Your false confidence is hilarious.”

Gita laughed and shook her head. “Is this what they call _boys will be boys_?” She turned to regard her waiting students and talked to them in their native language. A moment later, the little class erupted in another round of cheers and the children began running to Draco and Harry.

It took Draco a few seconds to understand that Gita had commanded her students to choose the team they wanted, and the result was somewhat unbalanced. Most of the girls wanted to be in the same group as Draco, while most boys chose Harry—either because they didn’t want to follow the girls or because they thought having Harry as their team leader would be more beneficial, which was kind of insulting to Draco. He might not look as strong as Harry at a glance, but he was confident he could beat the man in a ball game.

“No, no, this won’t do,” Gita sighed but she smiled in amusement. “I know this will happen, so I prepared something.” She showed them the little black bag she had been carrying and held it in front of Draco. “Here, take one.”

Draco put his hand inside the bag full of little round items and pulled out a yellow marble. Harry did the same thing and came out with a green one. Gita started walking around the kids, prompting every one of them to take a marble each and fairly grouped them based on the color they got. If they got yellow, they went to Draco while the rest with green marbles separated themselves with Harry.

“Perfect. Now, I’ll take one more marble and the chosen color will play first,” announced Gita. The color she picked from the bag was yellow.

Draco smirked at Harry, but the man only smiled sweetly in return. “Don’t worry, Draco, I’ll let you cry on my shoulder when you inevitably lose.”

“Sounds like the last speech of a loser to me,” Draco retorted flatly.

The game started and it turned out to be a lot more exhilarating than Draco thought. Stacking the _pirings_ was easy enough, but it was hard to get a chance to reach the square where he had to stack them. Harry’s team was relentless with their shots, passing it quickly and throwing the ball with decent accuracy. Before he knew it, Draco had lost half of this team and only half of the _pirings_ were already stacked.

“You! To your left!” Draco shouted to a little boy from his team, not caring if he might not understand what he said. The boy dodged the shot just in time.

Draco ran around the field, trying to steal any opportunity to get to the square. The game continued on. Draco lost more of his team members, but they also managed to slowly make their way to the top of their stacks. There were only three _pirings_ left.

From the corner of his eyes, Draco saw a girl throw the ball his way and he barely avoided it from scraping his arm. With the ball out of the way, he dashed to the square and hurriedly stacked two of the pirings onto the pile before he was forced to retreat as the ball zoomed back to the center of the field.

“Bima, out!” Gita shouted from the edge of the field.

Breathless now, Draco gave himself a moment to look around, only to find he was the only player left in the court, all his team members were already out. One player and one _piring_ left. This would be an endgame.

Harry, who stood in the middle of the field, seemed to realize this as well. “Oh, this is going to be interesting, Malfoy,” he said challengingly before calling his own team member to pass him the ball.

Draco cursed under his breath as he once again narrowly avoided getting hit by the ball. He ran to the other side of the field as he formulated a strategy inside his mind. If he could bait the opponents to throw the ball far enough from the square, he would have enough time to put that last _piring_ on the stack. He just had to move really fast.

Pretty much short of other options, Draco tried to execute his plan. He skirted the edge of the court and quickly distanced himself from the square, just far enough that the opponents would take his bait. It worked. A boy threw the ball to him, which he swiftly dodged. With all his might, Draco sped to the square.

A few meters before he reached it, Draco realized he wasn’t fast enough. The opponents were already back in control over the ball and ready to finish the game. He was vaguely aware of one of the kids passing the ball to Harry who was prepared to throw the final shot.

Draco wondered fleetingly if he could dodge it one last time to win the game.

Then, the game took an unexpected turn. Draco was a couple steps from the square and Harry was one breath away from throwing the ball when Maya, who was sorted to be in Harry’s group, tackled the dark-haired to the ground, effectively aborting the shot.

Everyone in the field was frozen, witnessing the incident with dropped jaws. Draco, so sure he would get hit this time, was so shocked that it took him two full seconds to recover and quickly stacked the last _piring_.

“I—we win!” he shouted loudly, jerking his teammates from their confused state. A moment later, they all joined him in cheering and jumping around their neatly piled _pirings_.

“What the—,” Harry muttered as he got up, gently straightening Maya who fell with him to a standing position. “Maya, why did you do that?”

“Because she loves me!” Draco cheered merrily as he swooped down to take Maya into his arm and lifted the girl up. “This is what they call having a spy working with your foes,” he said with a laugh, twirling Maya around in a celebratory dance.

“This is not fair!” Harry protested.

“All is fair in love and war, darling.” Draco threw him a wink.

“Referee! How can this be acceptable?” he turned to Gita, a petulant pout on his face.

Gita was also laughing when she walked towards them. “Well, there isn’t any rule specifying a situation where your teammate betrays you,” she said with a snicker. “But I’ll make one for the next round. For now, how about we keep the point and switch roles?”

“Fine,” Harry huffed. “Consider this a bonus point for you before I mercilessly beat you.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Potter.”

Draco’s luck didn’t end with only having someone who favored him in Harry’s team, because apparently one girl in his own team was brilliant at aiming the throws. In the next game when his team played the opponent, the girl—he would later learn from Gita that her name was Sonia—easily swept out most of the players, including Harry, within the first ten minutes of the game. The round ended faster than Draco had expected, with Harry’s team failing to score.

The game stretched into a few more rounds. When the sun began to inch to the west and the children started to be Apparated back to their houses, Gita ended their quite rowdy game with the final score of 3 -1 to Draco’s team.

“ _Merlin_.” Draco flopped to his back on the grass after the last child was gone, his voice was still breathless from the exertion. “I hope that helps you learn your place, Potty.”

“It was pure luck and you know it,” Harry retorted without any heat as he joined Draco on the ground.

“I know perfectly from our Hogwarts days how much of a sore loser you are. Can’t gracefully accept your defeat even after all this time?”

“Well, I’m sure you know all about accepting defeat, there’s no harm in letting you get a taste of victory for once.”

“Boys,” Gita mused as she put the props back to the crate in the gazebo. She waved her wand to make the lines marking their court disappear and turned to the two men lying on the grass. “Shall we go home too for dinner?”

Draco was about to get up when he felt a hand on his arm, keeping him down. “Do you mind if we stay here a little longer? We’ll go after you,” said Harry.

Gita pursed her lips in question for a moment before giving them a knowing look. She nodded with a smile. “Sure. Be careful of the bugs!” she called and Apparated away.

Draco shifted a little to look at Harry. “What—”

His question was cut short as Harry suddenly had his mouth on his, kissing him deeply. Harry’s hand shot up to Draco’s jaw, tilting his head a little to allow him to deepen the kiss. His other hand was on his hip, urging Draco to roll on his side for a more comfortable position. Soon, Draco let his own hands roamed Harry’s body in return, lifting his shirt a little, making the grass below them tickle his skin.

The kiss was intense and almost hungry. Draco could feel the urgency radiating from Harry, and it was not entirely about lust. The world around them slowly became an insignificant background, a white noise, as they passionately savoured the taste of each other.

Draco was panting when they finally broke away for breaths. “What was that for?” he asked breathlessly.

Under the darkening sky, Harry’s eyes shone brighter as he stared straight into Draco’s. “I don’t think I ever saw you that happy and carefree before,” he whispered. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

Draco entangled his fingers in Harry’s curls. “I don’t remember the last time I was this happy,” he replied quietly. “Long ago, maybe. Long enough for me to forget.”

“I wish I could see you more like that.”

Not knowing what else to say, Draco leaned in for another kiss.

* * *

Later that night, Draco pulled a leather bound journal from his suitcase and sat down at a small desk in the corner of their cottage.

He stared at the cover for a moment. It was a handsome journal, rich brown with golden vines decorating the soft surface of its cover. His mother gave it to him for his sixteenth birthday, a medium for him to pour his feelings, she said. A little smile curved on his lips from the thought of her. He flipped the journal open, his fingers stroking his old writings. Most of the entries were from the war, the last one being the night after Lucius was convicted guilty for his deeds and sentenced to a life long in Azkaban.

Draco was still absently staring at his journal that he didn’t notice Harry shuffling behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“Writing a journal?” Harry asked quietly next to his ear.

The question startled Draco so much that he jerked upward, making his shoulder hit Harry’s chin hard. Harry groaned, hand lifted to rub his chin from the mild pain.

“Sorry,” Draco said as he twisted his body to see him, his tone not quite apologetic. “And no, I’m not writing a journal, just reading.”

Harry hummed, hand still rubbing his chin, and jumped onto the desk, perching on the edge of it and looking down at Draco curiously. “Any interesting thing worth sharing?”

“Nothing,” Draco replied with a shrug. “Just depressing stuff about my days during the war.”

Arching a brow, Harry reached out to take the journal and Draco let him flip over the pages. Most of them were still empty, Draco barely filled half of his journal in the seven years it had been in his possession. Draco tilted his head as Harry started from the first page, watching his breath hitched just slightly.

The first entry in his journal. Draco remembered it so well. He remembered shakily holding the untouched journal right after Harry cut him open, literally, and Severus knitted him back together just in time. He remembered how he recounted the event in great details—the dim bathroom, his failed attempt to use a Cruciatus on Harry, Severus’ shouts. Draco put everything in words, missing nothing but his own feelings as it played out—the aftermath shock had numbed him from feeling any emotion at the moment.

Since then, it simply became a norm for him whenever he wrote. He would grab his journal when there were too many things happening at once, when he got overwhelmed to the point he could feel nothing but numbness. Then he would sit down and write everything, impassively retelling the sequences of incidents as if he was a mere spectator of the whole thing, not someone who had been through it.

As Harry flipped the pages further, the frown on his face grew deeper. “Why did you only write the bad things in those years? That couldn’t be the only things that happened to you,” Harry said eventually, looking up from the journal on his lap.

Draco met his eyes. “No, but those were the only things worth writing.”

“Why?”

“I like to cement the moments of my life when I thought things couldn’t be any worse,” Draco said slowly, “so that every time I had a bad day, I could read it and tell myself I survived something bigger before. If I thought my day was worse than what I had written, then I would write it down in case I survived again and I need to look back in the future.”

The green eyes stared straight at Draco, the gleam unreadable. “But wouldn’t it be nice to also write down good memories to be remembered?”

“If the happiness is no longer attainable in the future, then no. I reckon good memories from the past would only make it hurt more when you don’t have the means to achieve it anymore.”

Harry didn’t say anything in return, his gaze turned a little sad. Draco smiled softly, taking the journal back from Harry and putting it on the small drawer of the desk. He stood up and took Harry’s hands in his.

“I was reading my journal because these past days have been so surreal. I don’t remember being nearly this happy in—well, so long. Years, maybe. And I want to remember the hardships I went through before so I don’t take this, our time together, for granted,” Draco said as he pulled Harry closer. “For me, pain is something to overcome, and it becomes an achievement that I can be proud of whenever I succeed. On the other hand, joy is just a moment to relish in the present. It’s not a currency to save so I could use it on rainy days.”

“Then what would you do on those rainy days?” Harry whispered, leaning in to press their foreheads together.

“I survive like I always did,” Draco said solemnly. “But it’s not a rainy day now, and I rather wish to make this happiness last as long as possible.”

Harry’s breath tickled Draco’s face. “I’d like that, too,” he said before closing the last inch separating their lips.

* * *

Life in Ajarewa went on.

Draco and Harry spent their late nights and mornings curled up together on the creaky bed in their little cottage, making love or just lazily enjoying each other’s presence and warmth. When the sun was high, they would rise and help Meme with whatever tasks they could do. Later in the afternoon, the two would head to the gazebo near the fields to play with local children after they finished their class with Gita—the witch banned them from coming during the class since the last time they turned it into complete chaos. In the evenings, they would usually stroll around the village, aimlessly stargazing the visible constellations and talking about nothing in particular, just the two of them.

But some nights, like this particular one, they were invited to one of the villagers’ houses for a pleasant dinner with the local families. And like always, they brought Gita to help translate the conversation with their host.

Both of them were sitting on the floor, cross-legged, on the wide porch of Maya’s house. Maya’s mother, a woman in her early thirties, had been insistently offering them their third helping of rice and spicy chicken despite Draco’s polite refusal.

“Thank you, Ma’am, it’s really delicious, but I think I’ve eaten more than enough,” Draco said, which Gita promptly translated to the woman.

Maya’s mother furrowed her eyebrows and pushed the plate of her chicken in red sauce closer to Draco, her black hair waving as she shook her head and talked in her language. Gita snickered a bit before she translated, “she said you look so skinny and need to be fed more.”

“Tell her it was just his genetics,” Harry chimed in after swallowing another mouthful of his meal. Eyeing the rapidly disappearing food on Harry’s plate, Draco wondered if Harry was just that hungry or that he really liked the local cuisines.

Gita said something to Maya’s mother and the two seemed to debate for a moment until the older woman relented with a pout. Instead of offering her spicy chicken, she moved a basket of fruit near Draco. He took a tangerine with a smile, mostly out of politeness.

“ _Biar aku_!” Maya shouted from Draco’s side and snatched the tangerine. For a second, Draco thought he did something wrong until he realized Maya just wanted to peel the fruit for him, making all of them laugh at her antics.

“It means ‘let me’,” Gita translated, reaching out to ruffle Maya’s hair affectionately. “What should we do with her? She’s so in love with you.”

Draco looked around him to the people sitting in a small circle, Harry and Maya on each side of him. The night was warm but breezy, a perfect time to have a relaxed dinner outside. Draco didn’t visit someone’s house often—the Malfoys liked to entertain guests more than being one—but every time he did in the past, it was always a stiff and formal occasion when he had to pay extra attention to his table manner or his father would scold him as soon as they were back in the Manor. Never in his wildest dream Draco thought of a dinner invitation when they all sat on the woven mat on the floor and just openly laughed between their meals.

The food was amazing, the hosts were kind and friendly, Maya was adorable as always, and Harry’s arm felt nice every time it brushed his whenever he shifted. Draco was happy.

Life in Ajawera had been amazing so far.

Maya’s father suddenly exclaimed and turned to Gita to say something. The witch’s eyes widened and she nodded.

“I forgot to tell you,” Gita said to Draco and Harry. “There’s an annual event coming up in two days. It’s an old tradition of this village, you should come and join us.”

“What kind of event?” Harry asked.

“It’s called _Kecak_ , a sacred magical ritual to celebrate the growing season—a way to show our gratitude for the magic itself that helped us grow our crops,” Gita explained. “The non-magical people adapted it to be a local dance and it became a famous attraction for tourists in Bali, but the original form involves a lot of magic and ancient spells. It’s kinda hard to explain, though, better for you to come and see it for yourself.”

“That sounds amazing,” Draco said, titling his head. “But a sacred ritual? Are you sure it’s okay if we come?”

“Of course, the more the merrier. You’re lucky that you’re here in time to see it, it’s going to be an experience of a lifetime!”

“Well, it will be our honor to join you then,” Harry said, his hand sneaking to casually stay on Draco’s thigh. He leaned in closer to softly whisper in Draco’s ear, “I didn’t think we could be any luckier, but here we are.”

Smiling to himself, Draco looked at the nice people around him once again before glancing at Harry at his side. Lucky didn’t even cover half of it.

* * *

As the sun began moving to the west, Draco watched people leave their houses to head in the same direction, each household carrying a big pot of what he assumed was homemade food. Meme and Gita were making their own pot inside, the smell of tasteful delicacies filling the air, while Draco and Harry waited in the front yard.

“You look beautiful this evening.”

Draco felt his cheeks heat up as he turned to Harry with a frown. “I don’t look any different from what you see every night,” he huffed and looked down at his attire. For this event, Gita insisted that they wear the traditional clothes for every male who would attend the ritual. Not wanting to seem rude after being invited to such a sacred festival, the two of them agreed. Draco didn’t expect the full outfit only consisted of red shorts and a fabric with big black and white checkered pattern, leaving his torso completely bare. He never felt so exposed in his whole life.

It’s not that Draco walked around Ajawera with full formal robes everyday. He couldn’t because one, it’s so hot here, and two, he would look even stranger than he already was with his light hair and fair skin. No wixen in Ajarewa wore robes. Everyone practically lived in shorts and t-shirts. So Draco got used to having his arms bare early on, which was a bit hard at the beginning since he always had them covered back home. It didn’t really matter, though, no one blinked at his fading Dark Mark here. If anything, his pale skin might have attracted more attention to him than that scary looking tattoo on his left arm.

But still, having his full torso bare in public was a whole different thing entirely. And Harry staring at him with his suggestive look didn’t help at all.

On the other hand, Harry looked like he couldn’t be more comfortable standing in his half-naked glory, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. “No, at night you aren’t illuminated by sunset glow,” he said softly. “Golden light looks amazing on your skin.”

_Surely not as good as how it looks on yours_ , Draco thought as he examined the broad of Harry’s chest where the golden ray of sun hit the tan skin. Harry looked truly delectable like this, all lean muscles proudly on display for anyone to see. The thin layer of sweat from the high temperature and humidity reminded Draco of when he was under him last night, moaning his own name to urge Draco to fuck him faster. Draco was dying to touch him now.

Before Draco could let his thoughts wander to more inappropriate places, Gita and Meme emerged from the house, a big pot on Meme’s hands. Harry instantly moved to take it from her.

“Let me bring it,” Harry said, looking inside the pot with a grin. “Will there be some kind of offerings during the ritual?”

Gita waved to another family passing the house before turning to Harry. “No, but there will be a big feast for everyone.” She smiled widely.

Draco stopped to admire the beauty of Gita and Meme’s matching dresses. The pair of mother and daughter had vibrant fabrics wrapped around their bodies, the metallic red and splashes of reflective gold twinkled a bit under the afternoon sun, making beautiful knee-length dresses and leaving their shoulders bare. On top of their heads, the two women had a golden, crown-like headpiece each. For a moment, Draco could be convinced that Gita and Meme came straight from the most exotic folklore he ever heard.

“Gorgeous dress,” Draco breathed, looking back and forth between Gita and her mother. “Both of you look amazing.”

“Thank you, Draco. You don’t look so bad yourself,” Gita said teasingly and winked at him. “Now let’s go, boys, _Kecak_ has to start before sunset.”

Meme led all of them to walk down a narrow path to the direction of the mountain. Soon, Draco felt the inclination of the path rose and they hiked higher and higher. As they walked, they met other families, on their way to attend _Kecak_ as well, and exchanged some pleasantries before continuing their walk together in a bigger group. After about twenty minutes of hiking, Draco saw where the ritual would take place.

It was a wide clearing on the top of a low hill with a cliff at the west side of it, facing the sunset. In the middle of it, men were stacking a huge pile of firewoods while the women separated themselves to one side on the clearing to organize the pots they brought here. All around them, the kids were merrily running around in their beautiful traditional clothes.

Gita took the pot back from Harry. “Go find yourself a spot. The ritual will mostly happen in the center area there, but the sunset will be as much of an attraction here as the dance. I’d recommend to sit somewhere there.” She gestured with her head to the east part of the clearing.

“Should we save a spot for you and Meme?” Draco asked.

“No, we will be there with some of the other women to prepare for the feast,” Gita said, waving her hand dismissively. “You two just enjoy yourselves and have fun.”

With a grateful smile, Harry nodded to Gita and took Draco’s hand, leading him to the back of the small crowd already forming in the area. Some of the villagers started moving to sit in a half circle surrounding a side of the big bonfire and Harry pulled Draco through them to a little mound just a few metres away from everyone. It was a perfect place where both of them could perfectly see the ritual and the retreating sun while still having a bit of privacy for themselves away from the crowd.

Soon, everyone got into their position. The children sat on the front row of the half circle and the elderly sat behind them. In the middle of the clearing, the bonfire had been successfully ignited, the fire dancing merrily with the early evening wind. The young men, all as shirtless as Harry and Draco, sat in four layers of tight circles around the bonfire. Some of the women were still busy organizing the food everyone brought, but the others had joined the rest to sit in among the elderly and waited for the ritual to begin.

Draco held his breath when an old witch walked to the end of the cliff and turned to face the men around the bonfire, her back to the sunset. The whole place abruptly fell into silence in anticipation. The witch held up her wand and started to chant in a language Draco didn’t recognize—not even similar to the local language everyone used daily—but it was easy to tell that this one was _ancient_. And powerful.

“ _Cak!_ ” every man around the bonfire shouted in unison, answering the incantation.

A green spark came out of the tip of her wand and Harry tensed a little next to him. Draco couldn’t blame him, the green spark was eerily similar to the most forbidden, cruel curse they knew. But soon it was obvious that, aside for the color, this spell couldn’t be anymore different from the Killing Curse. No malice could be sensed, no trace of a Dark Art. if anything, the magic that radiated from the spell felt like a cool, comforting breeze.

The witch continued to chant her spell over and over, and the men replied to her every time with the same shout, making an odd melody with even rhythms.

“ _Cak!_ ”

The chanting got louder and faster—and Draco could finally feel the magic shifted around them. It was subtle at first, like a whisper, as gentle as the caress of the evening breeze on his bare skin; but the change in the air gradually became more noticeable. The magic felt stronger, denser, as though the magic was a sentient being and it responded to every spell being chanted loudly to the fire.

“ _Cak!_ ”

He felt Harry almost scrambled to reach for his hand, gripping it in his. One glance at Harry’s face was enough to tell him that Harry felt the same thing, the green eyes were wide open in wonder and disbelief. Draco scooted closer to press the side of his body to Harry’s until he couldn’t tell who was shivering from the two of them. Maybe they were both shivering at this point, not at all because the winds got colder as the sun retreated, but because of the raw power of magic surrounding them.

“ _Cak!_ ”

Waving her hand wildly, the witch kept increasing the speed of her incantation, and the men followed her lead by being impossibly louder. The whole clearing vibrated—Draco couldn't tell if it was the sound that shook the ground or it was the magic around them, but it hardly mattered. The place was vibrating and Draco felt it to his core.

“ _Cak!_ ”

Draco knew he had a magic core inside of him, but he never knew where it was. He never even thought it was in a particular spot inside his body. But right now, he could clearly feel it, the vibration that came from his sternum. It wasn’t like the vibration the rest of his body felt from the shift in the magic, the vibration from a little part of his sternum actually _responded_ to the shift in the magic. It was so powerful it’s almost scary.

He gripped Harry’s hand harder.

“ _Cak!_ ”

Amid the overwhelming sensation, Draco felt Harry pull his hand and place it on his heaving chest, right on the tan skin above Harry’s sternum. With a dazed shock, Draco realized what Harry was trying to do.

The vibration of Harry’s magic core matched Draco’s. It felt like two heartbeats in sync.

Draco took Harry’s other hand to put on his own chest.

“ _Cak!_ ”

Draco didn’t understand what was happening at the moment, and from the stare Harry gave him, he was likely as lost as Draco, but Draco knew this was something to cherish. Something so rare and precious.

“ _Cak!_ ”

They were heading toward something, Draco could tell. What that thing was, Draco didn’t know. And he didn’t care. He was ready to dive into anything right now.

“ _Cak!_ ”

The old witch cried her final incantation with her loud, shrieking voice.

“ _CAK!_ ”

The bonfire exploded in green sparks, the vibrant color blended with the last hue of red in the sky. Suddenly, the air shifted again, this time the change wasn’t gradual. For Draco, it felt like he was under water and someone pulled him up to the surface right before he would suffocate. The air cleared and the magic stilled. Draco felt Harry’s sternum stop vibrating under his palm at the same time as his, leaving a warm feeling that spread to his chest.

Harry stared at him wide-eyed, his breath labored like he was running.

The eyes behind those glasses were impossibly green when he gasped, “Harry.”

Draco let out a shuddering breath and took a deep inhale before he could smile slowly, meeting Harry’s eyes with utter amazement of the unspeakable wonder. “Draco,” he whispered.

Without any other word, Harry returned his smile and pushed gently on his chest before taking his hand away. Before Draco could feel disappointed from the lost, Harry leaned in to land a kiss on his lips. It was just a chaste kiss, almost innocent since they were still in close proximity with other villagers, but it thrilled Draco nonetheless. He could feel the core of his magic thrummed gently the moment their lips touched.

It was the moment that Draco decided he didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want this to end. He wanted to be with Harry, sitting next to him as their magic beat in sync, smiling with him, calling him by his name and having Harry call him by his own. As though they were the same person, one soul split into two, a pair of pieces that make one whole picture.

But their time was almost up. They were nearing the end of February and Draco had to be back to England soon, leaving Harry to discover more unknown magic on his own. They would have to go their separate ways, live different lives. One day in the future, they might forget that Draco was once Harry and Harry was once Draco.

But did they really have to?

Draco wanted Harry and as far as he could tell, Harry felt the same. Why couldn’t they be together again? At home, it just didn’t make sense for them to be together. The Savior just didn’t stay with a Death Eater. But they weren’t at home, were they? No one cared about that bullshit here. No one saw a problem of them being together. And Harry told him he didn’t even plan to go home. So why did Draco still have to return to the place where everyone hated him, leaving one person he truly loved?

Right now, as he embraced the darkness that began to fall on them as the sun had completely retreated for the day, Draco couldn’t remember one single reason for what this had to be a mere farewell between him and Harry. He wanted this forever. He wanted Harry, now and always.

If he asked to stay, Harry would let him, right? After all, Draco had convinced himself that one unreadable emotion in Harry’s green eyes was love. It had to mean something.

“Hey,” Draco said quietly. “Let’s go to the beach again tomorrow.”

* * *

The beach was as beautiful as Draco remembered from the first time they visited it, the blue of the ocean complemented by the scarlet shade in the sky as the sun crept to the west. The whole place was also as empty, the only sound that could be heard was the crashing of waves and the rustling of strong wind. As they walked hand in hand on the soft sand without a word, Draco pondered how similar this was to the time they stepped on this beach.

But, of course, something felt different right now. The last time, they were hesitant and timid, neither was sure where they stood with each other. It had been confusing, frightening almost, to be so far from home and finally allowed to change the nature of their relationship. To boldly take the borrowed time up front and be in the moment.

This time, Draco felt invincible. He wanted to stop borrowing time for them to be together. Right here, right now, Draco was ready to steal it all, to own it, to let them have _forever_ instead. And he was sure Harry, his partner in crime, would take his hand and join him in this heist.

The last time he followed his heart right after the war, it led him to Harry. This time, he hoped by following what he desired he would get to keep what he had together.

Harry pulled him to stand closer to the water, enjoying the waves caressing their bare feet. The dark haired man stared silently at the crimson sun, his lips curved into a wistful smile. Draco felt Harry’s thumb stroking his palm softly.

“Is this it?” Harry said eventually.

Draco turned to him, finding the skin of Harry’s cheekbone almost shimmering under the golden light. It was mesmerizing. “Is this what?” he asked, a little breathless.

Finally looking at Draco, Harry smiled wider. “The farewell.”

A lump rose to Draco’s throat the same time he felt his chest constricted. This was the place when they decided to borrow their time, it made sense if Harry thought his invitation to return was to give it back. But Draco was greedy. He wanted to keep their time together for longer. Forever. Wouldn’t Harry want it, too?

“No,” Draco said.

Harry’s smile turned softer. “So we still have time?”

“Does our time have to be limited?”

Harry didn’t seem to expect that, his eyes widened in puzzlement. “What do you mean?” He frowned. “You’ll be married in a few weeks.”

“I don’t have to be married.”

“Of course you do. You said that yourself.”

“No,” Draco said, ignoring the fear growing within him that Harry wasn’t on the same page as him. “I said I was getting married because I didn’t know what I wanted to do.” He stopped to inhale deeply. “I know now.”

The frown on Harry’s face got deeper. He looked wary as he digested Draco’s words. “And what is that?”

Draco was ready to jump. “I want us to be real,” he said firmly. “I want to be with you.”

The green eyes closed shut. Harry took a deep breath as his face contorted like he was in pain. “You know we can’t be together, Draco.”

“Why? Why can’t we be together?” Draco demanded. “ _We_ know we can be together here. And you’re staying here, right? I can stay, too. Or I can follow you somewhere else. Anywhere.” Draco let out a shuddering breath when he saw Harry refuse to open his eyes. “If we can’t be together at home, then we can find a new home together, can’t we? Just you and I.” He gulped, and added quietly, “Harry,” he paused to gesture at himself, “and Draco,” he pointed his finger on Harry’s chest.

Harry flinched violently and Draco took his finger away.

“We can’t,” Harry said, his voice pained. “This is supposed to be a temporary thing.”

“ _Why_ , Harry?”

Finally, Harry blinked his eyes open, the green orbs reflected nothing but sorrow and guilt. Gone that unidentifiable emotion that Draco read as love. “You’re hurt after the war, and I… I was, too. We wanted each other,” he said slowly. “We were tired, we needed a break. We’re just… we fit like a glove.”

Draco couldn’t look away. He could hardly breathe.

“But you must understand that we… we just can’t be together forever. We just _can’t_ , Draco.” Harry shook his head, his brows furrowing. “We might love the thrill of first love, but passion dies. And then what? We need to lead our respective lives, grow and move on.” He sighed. “We’re so young and stupid to understand that we’re too broken for each other. You don’t know what you’ll regret.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. Did he have to say anything to that? Harry implied he didn’t love him, only loved the thrill of being with him. And passion dies, he said. They were too broken for each other. What did it mean?

For a second, Draco felt a throb deep in his sternum. His magical core. It throbbed painfully once, twice, before he felt his entire being stilled. Everything stopped, leaving nothing but numbness. He looked up to meet Harry’s eyes.

“So why did you get me to come here?” Draco asked quietly, his tone even.

Harry had it in himself to look guilty. “I thought we could ride the last wave of this passion as long as the time allowed. I thought… we both understood that this is not going to last. We promised before, didn’t we?”

We did, Draco thought. _Let’s be us until our time is up._ But was it really Draco’s fault if he saw more beyond the bitter promise they made when Harry always looked at him like Draco was the most precious thing in the world? When Harry touched him like he wanted to keep Draco for himself? When Harry called Draco by his name and asked Draco to do the same, merging the two of them into one? When their magical cores beat in sync as though to confirm that they were indeed one soul that needed to breathe each other?

Draco supposed it was his fault after all. He was naive and dumb. He used to know better. Back then, he was aware that Harry could leave anytime, leaving a gaping void in his wake. As the time passed and their borrowed time stretched, Draco forgot to keep himself from being carried away. He got greedy. He forgot that all the happiness he felt with Harry was not his to keep.

He would like to say that he forgot not to fall in love with Harry, but it would be a lie. He had loved him long before, beyond the primal passion and the thrill of first love. He had always known what he wanted. The only problem was this time, Draco forgot he couldn’t have what he wanted.

“One last question,” Draco whispered. “Did you ever see me in your future, even once?”

Harry’s face was unreadable as he held Draco’s gaze. “No.”

Draco felt his lips formed a smile without really meaning it. “Okay.” It hurt. He finally understood what people meant when they said there was a situation where you had to smile or else you’d cry. “I guess our time is up then.”

* * *

It was almost funny how Harry kept his distance while Draco put his belongings in the trunk. Harry stood by the tiny window of their cottage, watching Draco pack his things with his uncertain gaze. He seemed like he was about to offer help but wasn’t sure how to approach Draco. It could have been amusing, Draco would have laughed if he didn’t feel so tired.

“Um, I…,” Harry stammered awkwardly. “I’ll find you a plane ticket.”

Draco stopped folding his shirt, frozen in thought for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “I’ll Portkey back home.”

“But—but you can’t—”

“I’ll take a roundabout route, okay?” Draco sighed. “A few stops in different countries. No one will know where you are.”

Harry frowned and walked closer. “But then people will know that you’d been away.”

Running his hand on his face, Draco moved away from Harry. “I’ll be the one dealing with that. I don’t think people would care anyway. And if somehow they do, I’ll come up with some excuses. You don’t have to worry, your secret plan will be safe.”

Seemingly not taking the hint, Harry kept walking closer. “It’s not about me, Draco, it’s—”

“Potter,” Draco gritted out, effectively making Harry halt on his track. “Don’t. Just stop.” Draco waved his wand and the last piece of clothing flew from their closet to his open trunk. Another wave and his trunk was shut with a slam before levitating toward him. “This is it, then. Our farewell. Thank you for everything in the past years,” Draco said, his voice emotionless.

“Wait, you’re not leaving now, right?”

“I think I am.”

“Draco, it’s late. Stay the night, I’ll get you to the local department of transportation tomorrow. You need to say goodbye to Gita and Meme, too,” Harry reasoned.

Shaking his head, Draco started to walk toward the door. “No, I’m going now. Please say my apology to Meme and Gita for not saying goodbye to them in person.” Draco’s hand hovered on the door knob for a second before he made his mind. One last time, he thought. Turning to face Harry, Draco let himself stare at those green eyes, deciphering the storm of emotions in them. From this distance, Draco could fool himself and said that he still saw that one mysterious feeling reflected in those emerald orbs. Love, he once convinced himself.

Draco chuckled quietly, either because of how naive he had been before or how pathetic he was right now to desperately cling to this one fantasy until the very last moment. He gave Harry his last smile, as sincere as he could muster.

“Farewell, Potter.”

Closing the door behind him, Draco thought about how crazy this journey had been. Within five years, the Savior had gone from Potter, to Harry, to Draco, and now back to Potter again. A perfect circle.


	3. Chapter 3

## PART THREE: THE REMINISCENCE

#### May 2010

A group of loud tourists walked past Draco in the busy arrival lounge of Ngurah Rai Airport. He could have found the nearest secluded area to Apparate away, or better yet, he could have chosen to Portkey all the way from England to avoid the long hours of flight and the inevitable crowd of Muggles in every airport—he couldn’t care less about alerting people anymore—but Draco wanted this. He had decided to let himself remember all of it. To relive the memories.

So once again, he followed every step that took him to his sanctuary years ago. And it involved sitting in a plane for fifteen hours, staring outside the window with his journal clutched in his hands, Potter’s words still unread.

The trip back to Ajawera was mostly uneventful. Draco felt like he was navigating himself from the Manor in Wiltshire all the way to this small village so far away almost full in autopilot. It didn’t feel real—his return to this place—until Draco saw the first sight of vast rice fields under the bright sunlight and people tending to them with delicate magic. After his lung inhaled a greedy gulp of clean air that was dense with ancient magic, the fact that Draco was here again finally dawned upon him. Finding that everything was still very familiar for him, he made his way through the village’s narrow paths.

Gita wasn’t surprised to find him suddenly appear at her door. If anything, she seemed to be expecting him. The witch looked almost as youthful as he remembered, still the petite woman with warm smiles and playful energy around her. Draco never realized that he hadn’t let himself miss this old friend for all this time.

"It was you, wasn't it? Potter’s trusted acquaintance," he asked with barely any preamble, quoting Engel’s words.

The gleam in Gita’s dark eyes was unreadable. "Did you read the journal?" she asked instead of answering.

Draco glanced at his journal, still in his hands the whole time. Since he retrieved it a few days ago from Potter’s vault in Gringotts, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to even take a glimpse of the words Potter left for him.

“No,” Draco admitted.

“You should,” said Gita. “Whatever question you have right now, I don’t have the answer. Even the little things I know are not mine to tell.”

With a small smile, Draco nodded. “I see,” he said.

Suddenly, Gita pulled him into a hug, standing on her tiptoes to tuck her face on the crook of Draco’s neck. “Welcome back, Draco,” she whispered.

Returning the hug, Draco wondered how he could ever forget what a safe haven once felt like.

* * *

Draco realized that nothing changed in Ajawera. The fields were as green, the sky as blue, the sun as hot, the people as friendly, their smiles as welcoming. But it was still a surprise to find that the cottage he once shared with Potter was exactly as Draco remembered when he left it. Still this handsome little building, just a bit more worn down from the years. The inside didn’t change much either. Every piece of furniture was still in the same spot it was seven years ago.

Draco walked to the tiny desk under the window, touching the closed drawer where he remembered leaving his journal in. If someone asked him, Draco probably could recite the conversation he had with Potter at this desk over seven years ago. It felt like yesterday.

In the comfort solitude inside the cottage, Draco took a deep breath and finally opened the journal, right in the middle when Potter first started taking over the book.

> _Draco,_
> 
> _You always have questions. I know for every one question you asked, you have ten more unspoken. Since you’re reading this right now, I can safely assume that you’re still looking for the answers. And, yes, I do have those. But before I start, ask yourself, do you really want to know? People don’t lie when they say ignorance is bliss. Truth can hurt, but truth doesn’t always need to be known. Believe what you want to believe, they say. It’s easier. Kinder, in a way._
> 
> _It makes me curious, what do you think happened? Give yourself a moment to consider that. Do you like what you think? If yes, maybe staying in the dark isn’t so bad after all._

Draco lifted his eyes from the page and paused. What did he think? He considered it for a moment. His possible answer throughout the years was that Potter simply never wanted him. It was the only logical explanation, but at the same time it was also hard to believe. Whenever that thought came up, Draco’s mind supplied him with that one unreadable emotion in Potter’s green eyes that was so full of passion. Potter did want him once. Did he stop wanting Draco then?

Draco knew his attempt of answering the question himself would only lead to more questions arising. Resolutely, he flipped to the next page.

> _You either don’t like what you think, which makes me even more curious about it, or you hope truth can be better than whatever it is in your mind. But you choose to find out the truth, and I will give you all I can. So here we go._
> 
> _If everything goes according to the plan, you will be reading this when you are almost thirty and I am… well, dead. Again._
> 
> _Did you know that I have died before? I never told this to anyone. I can’t imagine many living people have experienced death, so maybe I should’ve taken pride in it. Or is it really dying when you barely left before you’re kicked back into the world? I have no idea. It was not that complicated, but it was surely very strange. Remember the last day of war, the Battle of Hogwarts? Voldemort struck me with a Killing Curse and it did what it was supposed to do, so I was killed, and it destroyed the part of Voldemort that was in me in the process. I died, but then I was brought back to life._
> 
> _How I wish it was that simple._
> 
> _I will never forget how much you used to hate me for being “the Chosen One” in Hogwarts, and I don’t know if this would make it better or worse, but I guess the title remains even in the afterlife. I am special, they said, and I died before my time was up, whatever they meant with that. So they gave me a choice: go on and meet my parents or take what they called another chance. But they could only offer me exactly five years and no more. Being young and naive, I didn’t hesitate to take up that offer. My life just started when I was eleven, I just wasn’t done living yet. Also, five years was long enough to have a good time, right?_
> 
> _Wrong._
> 
> _I never thought how hard it would be to live knowing that my days are numbered. Maybe that was a reason we are not supposed to know when we will die. The mystery of our death is the reason to keep a worth-living life. How can I live a fulfilling life when I know I won’t grow old with the people I love?_
> 
> _At that time, the war was just over. Everyone was hopeful to move on, planning their future to be brighter than the days when Voldemort was still around, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone that I was dying. They’re still mourning the loved ones they lost during the war, I couldn’t add more to that misery. Mourning is painful, we all know as we had our share of that pain before, so I don’t want them to mourn for me when I’m still alive with them._
> 
> _One good side of knowing when you’ll die is that you can plan ahead. When I die, I want to make it hurt less for people around me, and it would be hard to achieve if I stayed with them. So I need a distance, and plenty of time for them to move on and forget me before they found out that I was no longer here. But I couldn’t just suddenly disappear and leave them. I need to slowly make them let me go._
> 
> _So I formed a plan. I would do my best to lead a normal life while trying to gradually distance myself from my family and friends. I had five years after all, I knew I could manage that. And believe it or not, it was a lot easier than I thought. People walk their own path, and it wasn’t that hard to steer my path away from theirs. I met them less and less throughout the five years, and I didn’t know if I should feel sad or not that it just felt way too natural._
> 
> _The next step of my plan was leaving to a place far away when my time was approaching, creating a physical distance after I managed to make a gap wide enough between me and them. And I did manage that. Ron and Hermione barely questioned me when I said I needed to go and find a new life for myself, both too busy with their newly wed lives. They said I deserved a chance to find who I was, and with just that, they let me go._
> 
> _It should have been a smooth plan after that. I’ll embrace my death when it comes, and people would know nothing about it. They will wonder where I am from time to time, and they probably picture me in a new life, as happy as the one they are living._
> 
> _But of course, I couldn’t have everything according to plan. But to be fair, how could I foresee you just barging into the numbered days I have? And how could I anticipate myself enjoying your presence more than I could ever expect?_
> 
> _At first I thought the plan could still run as it was. You needed the release from pressure of the war and I wanted to feel less lonely from the thought of dying alone. Or maybe I simply just wanted you, the way you also wanted me. Either way, it sounded like a mutually beneficial thing for both of us, and it made sense at the time. It didn’t have to disrupt my plan._
> 
> _And then I got carried away. “This is a temporary thing,” I always told myself while I couldn’t stop the urge to keep meeting you. “It’s all fine, this will eventually end and we all move on.” But I kept on meeting you, more and more as the time went, indulging myself with your presence. My time was approaching fast but I still couldn’t stop. Instead of ending it, I let my desire to go as far as dragging you to another part of the world, so I could monopolize you for the last moment I have. “He has his own plan to build a family. He’ll be married by the end of March and I’ll be gone in the beginning of May,” I thought. It was all good._
> 
> _Until that day when you asked to stay. At that moment, I knew I screwed up. I failed the plan I meticulously formed, all just because I was too selfish to let you go when I should have._
> 
> _So, Draco, if you’re reading this, I want to apologize to you. I never meant to hurt you like that—everything is just a series of wrong decisions I took, starting from the moment I said yes to the second chance of life. I never meant to lead you on when I know I will soon leave this world._
> 
> _You asked me if I ever saw you in my future, and I didn’t lie when I said no. I didn’t see you in my future because I just didn’t see myself having a future. When you asked that, I only have two months left in my time. I can’t have you sacrifice a chance of lifelong happiness with your future family just for a couple months with a person you’d spend the rest of your life mourning for._
> 
> _There are still more things to explain, I know, but I want you to take your time to digest all of this first. Please just know that I am truly sorry that it ended like that for you. I wanted to make my departure as painless as possible for everyone I care, but I ended up hurting someone I care the most._
> 
> _Will you ever forgive me?_
> 
> _Ajawera, April 6 2003_
> 
> _Harry J. Potter_

Draco closed the book with a soft thud, his head reeling and chest tightening. He stared at the leather cover of his journal, absently following the golden vines on it as he slowly tried to let Potter’s—Harry’s—words sink in.

Harry didn’t die in a marine accident. Five years from the war, two months after Draco left Ajawera. Harry died seven years ago.

Just as Harry asked, Draco gave himself a long moment to reflect this newfound information. It took some time, his brain simply refused to form a coherent thought as though it was scared to let go of the safety of the numbness he felt when his head was empty. But after a while, he finally managed to kick his brain into working again.

What was _another chance_? Was Harry resurrected from death? What did it mean that he died before his time? How could it happen like that? One minute of thinking about that was enough to make Draco’s head spin. With some reluctance, he let that one part go. Maybe some things were meant to remain unexplainable, just like the magic that ran through his blood—a mystery forever.

Instead, Draco decided to focus on the rest of the writing. How typical of the noble Harry Potter, Draco thought with a little disbelieving huff of laugh. Even when he was running toward his inevitable end, all he cared about was how he could bear all the burden instead of letting people take their share. Harry had carefully planned everything just to make sure his departure would not hurt as much for people he loved.

And Draco had inserted himself into the grand plan and ruined everything. The fact that he got hurt in the end was completely his fault, wasn’t it? So why did Harry apologize to him? If anything, Draco was the one to blame.

Willing to steady his heartbeat, Draco closed his eyes. He didn’t expect any of this. Maybe it would be better if Harry was really off with a secret mistress somewhere in the world after all. At least that would make more sense, easier to accept. He shook his head slowly.

Not knowing what to feel, Draco couldn’t tell if he regretted chasing the answer or not.

* * *

A little moment to digest the information stretched into two days, but Draco still didn’t know how he should feel about Harry’s first letter. He locked himself in the little cottage, ignoring Gita’s patronus that occasionally came to check on him, too busy to untangle the mess of thoughts flooding his brain. Coming to term to the unexpected turn of reality was not an easy feat.

But finally, he was ready to unreveal more secrets Harry kept from him. On the afternoon of his third day in Ajawera, Draco walked out of his cottage to make his way to another side of the village. The gazebo Gita used to teach her students.

Unlike the rest of the village Draco had seen so far, the gazebo changed a lot. It was wider now, seemingly able to fit over thirty children comfortably. Maybe Gita’s class had expanded in the years, Draco mused. And they repainted it too, as the gazebo now looked almost brighter in rich maroon. On the empty ground next to it, stood two goalposts like the ones in a soccer field that Draco knew weren’t there the last time he was here.

After one more look around the place, Draco sat on the edge of the gazebo and opened the journal he carried with him, flipping to the next page after Harry’s first message.

>   
>  _Draco,_
> 
> _When you left Ajawera, mad and hurt, the first thing I could feel was just guilt and regret. I cursed my selfishness, I hated how I could become so greedy. The flash of pain in your eyes when you say your farewell made me lie on bed for days, wishing nothing but to rewind time and remind myself not to take your hands when you offered them to me._
> 
> _But after all those lonely nights alone in our cottage, the regret slowly dissipated. In a month, maybe by the time you already got married, only guilt remained with me. It took me a while, but I realized I couldn’t bring myself to regret having you in my life._
> 
> _Do you know that you’re the only thing that made my second chance of life worth living? As I’m now rushing toward my death, I find myself not regretting saying yes to this ridiculous promise of five extra years as much as I did. Without it, I wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to be with you. And I wouldn’t have known that being with you was my chance to finally be alive._
> 
> _I thought my life just started when I was eleven. And it was true in a way, I found the closest thing I have for family and discovered what I am, a wizard. But even then, I never know_ who _I am. I was always the Chosen One before I was Harry, and I ended up not knowing who Harry even was._
> 
> _And then you came along to introduce me to Harry. When I was with you, I wasn’t the Savior or the Chosen One. I was just Harry. And I never knew who that person was until you gave me the chance to meet him. That was how much our time together meant for me._
> 
> _I wondered what our time together was for you. I remembered how you said you only kept the bad memories to remind yourself what you have survived and left all good memories to stay in the past when they happened. Where did you put me? Am I just a bad memory that you need to move on from? Did you really leave the rest of our memories in Ajarewa the way you left this journal of yours? Did you get yourself a new journal to write down how I hurt you and you’d look at it in the future with pride for surviving the pain?_
> 
> _It makes me feel so bad to think about the unfairness of it. You brought so much joy to what was supposed to be years of painful loneliness for me, but for you I am not but a mere painful memory. When I formed my initial plan, I purposely tried to skip the painful end so I could just leave people with memories of me being alive, but for you that memory might even be worse than staying with me as I’m dying. You deserved more than that pain I left you with._
> 
> _I wanted you to remember that we had our time of happiness together, and I wanted you to smile when you remember it. To remind you of that, I decided to change my plan._
> 
> _I still need the time and the distance. I need you to move on and build your family while thinking I was somewhere in the world doing Merlin knows what. And when the time is right, I will lead you back here. I’m thinking seven years, just like how long it took us to be together, since that first meeting in Madam Rosmerta’s to the end of the war. By this time, I hope you already have your little family with you. I’m honestly curious, do you have children when you’re reading this? How many of them? Boys or girls? Do they look like mini Draco? I bet they look adorable. And I’m sure you’ve been showering them with you the love you’re always overflowing with._
> 
> _Anyway, I got sidetracked. My point is I hope you’re ready to forgive me and see beyond the mess of our parting to remember that we did have our shared smiles and laughs. I’ll give you the key to our cottage too, in case you want to come back and see how things change here._
> 
> _In seven years, I’ll have Gita to bring closure for everyone while delivering this journal back to who it rightfully belongs to. And if you’re reading this right now, I can say that she did her part. What a wonderful friend she is, don’t you think? I hope you can keep in touch with her after this. You two deserve to have a kind of friendship each of you can offer the other._
> 
> _So, Draco, if you’re ready now, please try to remember the days we had together. Happy memories don’t have to hurt even if they can’t be relived the way you had them. Just like bad memories, you’ll have good memories again in the future. So, let the good things from the past remind you of how life can get better again. It might come in different forms, but happiness will always find you one way or another. I’d like to think it won’t be the same as what we shared was incomparable, at least for me, but who knows? Not being the same might even mean better things for you. I wish it will be better for you._
> 
> _I wish you to keep having a good life, and when you remember me, I hope the memory can bring a smile to your face, just like how thinking about you never fails to make me smile._
> 
> _Ajawera, April 10 2003_
> 
> _Harry J. Potter_
> 
> _P.S. If you start remembering, I will recommend the time we played_ kaburan _with Gita’s kids for the first time. It was my personal favorite. Not only it was super fun, but you never looked as stunning with your carefree laughs. And it says a lot considering you’re always beautiful._

Silently, Draco stared at Harry’s messy writing, feeling as though his heart was bleeding. For some reasons, Harry’s explanation both sounded ridiculous and made perfect sense at the same time. He purposely gave seven years for Draco to properly move on before returning to his life only to remind him that they indeed shared happy memories together.

Harry wanted Draco to remember, because remembering brought him happiness. And he wanted Draco to be happy.

Draco didn’t know if he was ready to look back, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t want to.

But there was more to it. Despite this letter sounding like the final message, there were more pages filled with Harry’s writing left in his journal. Before Draco could flip to the next page, a voice called him.

“Draco.”

Draco looked up to find a teenage girl walking carefully toward him. She was quite short, but her skinny figure made her look taller than she actually was. Upon catching Draco’s eyes, the girl gave him a tentative smile. Something about that expression felt so familiar to Draco.

“Maya?” he tried.

Her uncertain smile bloomed into a beam and she walked faster, skipping her steps. “People say you’re here again,” she said.

Draco found himself smiling too. “You can speak English now.”

“Only a little. Not very good,” Maya nodded. “I learn because of you.”

“That’s amazing,” Draco said. He patted the spot next to him and Maya sat down with a grin. “You’ve really grown up. I could hardly recognize you.”

Maya paused for a bit, seemingly trying to translate Draco’s sentence and she nodded again. “I was small,” she agreed, making an exaggerated gesture about her height back then with her hand. “But you don’t change.”

“Really?”

“Your hair still beautiful.”

For the first time in days, Draco laughed. “Thank you, Maya.”

The girl grinned wider before her expression dimmed. She hesitated before saying quietly, “back then… when you go, Harry get really sad.”

Draco’s chest constricted painfully. He looked away. “Did he?”

Maya nodded solemnly, a frown forming between her brows. “He’s so sad… and then he died from the sadness.”

At that moment, Draco wondered if he was the only one who knew about Harry’s second life, about the death waiting patiently for him and Harry preparing himself to greet it. Did he tell anyone else about it? Did he even tell Gita?

“Harry miss you so much. He feel lonely,” Maya continued.

“Didn’t he have you and the others here as his friends?”

“Harry… not talk to anyone after you go. For some days. He stay alone in his house.” Draco threw a side glance at her to see the girl pursing her mouth. “But then he go out again. I remember he come here a lot to play with us.”

“He did?”

Maya turned to him and gave a small smile. “Yes. Harry say it… um, _ingat_? Oh, remind him of you,” she said. “Harry look happy when he say that.”

“Oh,” Draco said weakly, because what else could he say? It felt like the invisible wound in his heart was torn open wider.

Quietly, Maya studied his expression and shifted closer to put her warm hand on Draco’s arm, her black eyes shining with concern. “You miss him, too, right?” she asked. “I also miss Harry. You’re not alone. You have everyone here.”

The sincerity of her words, still dripping with innocence, startled Draco. Her perceptiveness and gentle empathy reminded him so fiercely of Scorpius back at home that it took him completely off guard. Before he could keep his emotions in check, Draco felt tears running down his cheeks. Like a dam was broken, his emotions came pouring out unrestrained.

Maya gasped and furrowed her brows in hesitation for a moment before moving to her knees to wrap her bony arms around Draco’s shoulder. “It’s okay, don’t cry.”

In the arms of an innocent girl who once thought he was a prince, Draco let himself be a damsel in distress and cried harder.

* * *

It was hard to admit, but Harry’s plan actually worked. All the effort Harry took to provide the time and distance for Draco to move on was proven to not be in vain when Draco found himself making peace with the shocking information in just a few days since discovering it.

He wouldn’t say it’s easy, but he imagined it would be a lot harder to swallow it back then when his feelings were still so raw and almost unwelcomed. Now, knowing he had his family waiting for him and his old friends with him in Ajawera, Draco could slowly accept the fact that Harry was gone. He knew his world would keep on turning regardless, and that somehow made it easier to see beyond all the painful things and acknowledge the good time they had together.

Since Harry had gone through so much just to make sure their memories wouldn’t hurt him the way it would otherwise, Draco would respect him the way he would want. By reminiscing what they had. What they once were.

As a start, Draco brought his journal to the place where they watched _Kecak_ together, up in the hill when the sun was starting to lean west. He sat exactly where he remembered he and Harry were back then—behind the crowd with a perfect view of the performers. It was almost eerie to be up here all alone.

Closing his eyes, Draco put his palm flat on his journal. He remembered doing the same gesture on Harry’s chest and feeling his magical core beat with his own. Draco controlled his breaths, picturing the bonfire, the old witch and her incantations, and the men chanting ‘ _Cak! Cak!_ ’ repeatedly. For a quick second, he felt a familiar warm buzz under his palm. Maybe it was Draco’s brain playing tricks on him, but it felt as though the residual of Harry’s magic that he left when he wrote in this journal was responding to Draco.

Draco smiled and caressed the cover before opening the journal to read Harry’s next letter.

>   
>  _Dear Draco,_
> 
> _How are you? I can’t imagine how you’d feel when you finally got the answers you might have been looking for all this long. Did I clear up everything? I hope I did. And if I didn’t, you can assume the rest to fill the gaps yourself. For now, I don’t think I have anything left to share._
> 
> _Anything that you might find interesting, that is. Because there’s one more thing I’m dying (pun intended?) to tell you, but I don’t know if I should. But, if you could forgive me for everything else, maybe you could extend that forgiveness a little bit more to let me indulge myself by saying this._
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _I didn’t think I ever told you that. After all, what would it mean to love you when I couldn’t stay to keep the love alive?_
> 
> _But that doesn’t make it less true. I don’t know when it started, but I know when I stopped being in denial about it: when you first called me by your name. Until that moment, I kept telling myself that we’re just “friends with benefits.” But it never was just sex for us, right? It took me so long to realize that if the “benefits” of being your friend were feeling so alive with a constant stream of happiness and passion, it might mean something else differently. That what I feel for you might mean something a lot stronger._
> 
> _When you called me by your name, I finally saw it. Nothing felt as true before. At that moment, I know exactly who Harry is. I am you and you are me. And maybe even love isn’t powerful enough to describe what it’s supposed to mean. But since you’re usually the better one between the two of us when it comes to words, please excuse me If I just use love for now._
> 
> _So, yeah. I love you. More than what I imagine love could be._
> 
> _“We might love the thrill of first love,” I said._ _Do you know how much it hurt me to lie to you and implied that everything between us was just a “passion” for the thrill of being together? It broke me to see the pain in your beautiful eyes, how betrayed you looked. But what could I say to make you understand and stay away from me? My plan was ruined because of my selfishness, and I’d lie if I had to just to salvage what I could from it._
> 
> _I said passion dies, but I don’t think that even my death could end what we are. When our magic thrummed together, I know what we have is stronger than the explainable. And it dragged me to a dangerous territory I always tried to avoid: the if onlys._
> 
> _When you know how life will end for you, it is too easy to spiral into your own thoughts and wonder if things were different. If only I didn’t say yes to this second chance, would I live peacefully with my parents wherever it is that they keep our souls in? If only Voldemort never killed me, would I get to grow old with my friends? Or would it just perpetuate the war as the part of Voldemort that was in me never perished?_
> 
> _Thinking of if onlys won’t bring me anywhere, so I tried not to. Until our magic sparked together as though we were one soul split into two. How could I not wonder if it was different for us?_
> 
> _What would happen if only we had more time? If only I realized my feelings for you sooner, would I be brave enough to tell you about everything while I was still alive? Would I let myself love you the way you deserve it? You said nothing could come of us before the war ended, and I had to agree, but have you ever wondered what would happen if only there was never a war to begin with? Would we still find each other, then? Would our magic still sync? Would we be able to live a happy life as unlikely lovers?_
> 
> _Just this time, I will let myself explore the imagined world of if onlys._
> 
> _If only I wasn’t a coward and I had the courage to tell you all of this in person._
> 
> _Ajawera, April 27 2020._
> 
> _With the overwhelming love I never properly expressed,_
> 
> _Harry J. Potter_

When Draco lifted his head from the journal on his lap, he saw the sun almost completely retreat to the horizon, leaving a deep scarlet hue in the sky. He didn’t realize he was crying until a drop of his tears fell on the page and he had to wipe it with his shaking hand before it could smudge the writing Harry left for him. Harry’s feelings—poured into words so raw and sincere that Draco found it hard to breathe.

Harry loved him. It was true.

And Draco loved him, too.

Had he ever admitted it before? Draco wasn’t sure. He always knew he wanted Harry, he needed him, but to acknowledge that his feelings for the man were so much more tender and precious? Draco never dared before. All this time, he said to himself that the desire he had for Harry was brutal and painful. Wanting someone he could never have, it felt like a karma for all the bad things he did in the past.

But now he was ready to look past that. It was true; he loved Harry, in an unexplainable way that felt both scary and right at the same time. And Harry loved him back.

If Draco had known this seven years ago, he would have asked _what would it mean to love someone who was about to go away?_ He would have despised his destiny more than he always had. He would have considered the love he had for Harry as a punishment.

Sitting on top of a hill as the sun set for the day, head filled with memories of Harry’s green eyes twinkling with adoration, Draco could only relish the warmth of _love_ he never let himself feel before. His thoughts would inevitably wander to the land of if onlys later, and it would hurt, but for now, he tried to focus on the new realization, so powerful and liberating.

Draco wiped the rest of tears on his cheeks, savoring the magical moment when he accepted that he and Harry were once madly in love with each other.

* * *

Gita said Harry asked her to follow the local tradition for his burial, and that meant burning the body. Not surprisingly, Harry requested for his ashes to be thrown into the sea from the beach he had visited with Draco.

“He said it would make the fake cause of death for his plan less of a lie—which just isn’t true,” Gita had told Draco. “But I think I had his own reasons.”

And it was why Draco found himself visiting the beach again, all alone. He sat on the sand, his journal opened on his lap at the last letter Harry wrote in it. If he had to be honest, Draco was scared to read it. This was Harry’s last words to him. Reading it would almost feel like accepting the end of it, wrapping up a chapter in his life that he had left unfinished for so long. It felt like he was about to finally let go of Harry, in a way that he never managed before. And it was daunting to say the least.

But everything must come to an end eventually, and despite the reluctance, Draco was ready to let Harry go—to a place he already prepared in his heart where his lover would stay forever.

He started to read.

> _My dearest Harry, because no matter how far we are, even two different worlds apart, I can never tell where you end and I start._
> 
> _Have you ever thought about dying? What death would look like? Would it feel like dreaming or waking up from one? Would it be a soft caress of mercy or a painful blow of cruelty? I have died once before, but those questions are still on my mind._
> 
> _If I can be honest to you, Harry, I want to say that I’m scared. This time, no one will stop me at the gate to give me a second chance. It will be final. I will have to go and leave everything behind._
> 
> _I never thought I would ever fear death. When I was a child, a lonely orphan living in a cramped cupboard under the staircase in my uncle’s house, I often wondered what death would feel like, but I was never scared of it. Like I said, my life hadn’t started until I was eleven. Before that, death would simply mean my time to reunite with my parents whom I couldn’t remember. All I could think of was whether I wanted to meet my parents enough to endure the pain of dying. In the end, the little me held on._
> 
> _And then I was brought to Hogwarts. Slowly, life started to become worth living. I finally found good friends and what I imagined having family would feel like. For the first time, I was truly happy, but even back then, I didn’t exactly dread death. How could I, when my life was glorified beyond what my young mind could wrap around? They called me The Boy Who Lived before I could even comprehend what exactly being alive meant. And when Voldemort returned, they told me it was my destiny to defeat him, to stop the madman from ruining the world. They all expected so much from me that at some point I wondered what it would be like to die and just let everyone down. I was just so tired._
> 
> _But I still took the chance to live again when it was offered. Voldemort was dead, surely there was more to life than what I went through, right?_
> 
> _And I was right. You, Harry, taught me all the “more” I could have in life. You taught me who I am and how to live as myself. You helped me to learn how to love life by letting me love you. In a way, you’re the one showing me what being alive actually is. It was a blessing I’ll eternally be grateful for._
> 
> _But every blessing comes with a curse. I was finally alive, which was the greatest gift I could ever ask for, but it makes me fear death like never before. Loving something means accepting the fear of losing it, and my love for you makes me love life._
> 
> _I am scared, Harry. Tomorrow my time will be up and I don’t know if I’m ready to leave. But maybe I’ll learn how to love that fear, too, the way I love everything you brought to my life._
> 
> _I hope death would be merciful. Will death embrace me like an old friend? Will it let me remember you as I go? Because that’s what I’ll do. I will picture your smile in my mind. I will think of you whispering your name to call me. I will call you by my name when death finally takes me away._
> 
> _When I step out of this world, I will remember how grateful I am that I had you._
> 
> _Ajawera, May 1 2003_
> 
> _Who am I if not you?_
> 
> _Draco_

Draco reread the last sentence over and over, carving it in his brain. He flipped to the next page to make sure that was indeed Harry’s last message before closing his journal. Leaving it on the sand, Draco stood up and walked toward the water, his long hair flying in the strong wind.

As he stared at the vast ocean, Draco felt the tiny waves crashing at his feet, as though trying to calm the storm raging in his chest. As though Harry, now part of the sea, was soothing him. The thought brought a small smile on Draco’s face.

_One day, when my time comes and they take me back to you, Draco, I’ll be grateful for all the memories we shared together._


	4. Chapter 4

## EPILOGUE

#### February 2013

“This is amazing, Father! Best birthday ever!”

Draco had his arm around his wife as they watched their son running around the living room with so much glee, the newest model of the Nimbus racing broom series squeezed between his legs, dragging on the plush carpet.

“Wait until he teaches you how to actually ride it, dear. Your father is quite an aviator. The Seeker in him never dies,” Astoria teased.

“Stop it,” Draco chuckled. “He will be so much more amazing on a broom than I ever was. Just look at his posture. He’s a natural.”

Right after Draco said that, Scorpius stumbled on his own feet and fell face first to the floor, his limbs tangled with his brand new broom. Astoria rushed to him, but Scorpius just sat up and looked at his parents with a sheepish grin.

“Oops?”

Draco couldn’t help a big hearty laugh bubbling from his belly. “It’s okay, son. You’ll learn fast enough.”

Astoria helped Scorpius get on his feet and took his broom. “I’ll keep this for when you properly train to use it, okay? It can be dangerous to play with this inside,” she said and landed an affectionate kiss on Scorpius’s head before leaving the room.

Still with his excited smile, Scorpius ran to hug his father. “Thank you so much, Father! I love it a lot!”

“I’m glad,” said Draco, ruffling his son’s curly platinum hair. “Actually, I have another gift for you. Not as great as the broom, of course.”

Scorpius took a step back with a gasp. “What is it?” he asked, pale eyes gleaming with hope and excitement.

Kneeling down to match Scorpius’ height, Draco took something from his robe pocket and handed it to his son. Scorpius took it with a little frown of puzzlement.

“A book?” he asked, head tilted in confusion.

“A journal,” Draco corrected. “To write all your feelings down on.”

With his small hand, Scorpius held the journal up, admiring how the silver dots on the cover shimmer in contrast to the dark, royal blue of the leather bounding the book. It took him a few moments to recognize the dots as a constellation.

“It’s me,” Scorpius breathed in awe, tracing the dots representing his constellation with his fingers.

“It is, indeed,” Draco said softly. “I want you to pour your heart into it. Write everything, both the good and the bad things that happen in your life.”

Scorpius looked up to meet Draco’s eyes, his own huge in wonder. “Why?”

“Because,” Draco leaned in to press a kiss on Scorpius’s head, “the bad things make you stronger every time you overcome them.” He paused and put his palm on his son’s chest, waiting a few beats until he felt the familiar vibration under his hand. Draco smiled. “And the good things make your life worth living.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remember to leave some love for the creator if you can! Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/) on the H/D Hurt!Fest tumblr page!


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